O M I < 

ECLAMATIONS 
AND READINGS 



COMIC DECLAMATIONS 
AND READINGS 



For School, Home and Public 
Entertainments 



Adapted to the Use of All Who 
Have Young Hearts 



BY 
CARLETON B/CASE 



SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. 
CHICAGO. 









Copyright, 1916, 

By 

SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING COMPANY. 



©C!.A44G72^ 

NOV 25 1916 



FOREWORD 

"Laugh, and the world laughs with you." 

All the world loves a laugh. 

Here's a bookful of laugh makers from which suit- 
able selections can readily be made for reading and 
reciting in home, school and public entertainments of 
every kind. 

There are collected in this book the choicest of the 
world's humorous prose and poetry suitable for all 
occasions. 

In no other one publication will these selections be 
found entire, nor is there so great a variety of wit, 
pathos and sentiment obtainable in any similar com- 
pilation. 

Great care has been exercised that every selection 
should be clean, wholesome and free from possibility 
of giving offense. 

This work commends itself to teachers, scholars, 
elocutionists, and all who are laudably desirous of 
pleasing their audience, and themselves. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Adoon the Lane . . ^ 10 

All About the Weather 154 

Artie's Amen .Pcml Hamilton Hayne 40 

Asleep at the Switch George Hoey 119 

At the Stage-Door James Clarence Harvey 104 

Aunt Jemima's Courtship 132 

Aunty Dolef ul's Visit Mary Kyle Dallas 145 

Baby in Church Minnie M. Gow 11 

Bill Mason's Bride Bret Harte 135 

Blind Men and the Elephant, The /. G. Saxe 134 

Book Canvasser, The 138 

Bravest Battle Ever Fought, The Joaquin Miller 76 

Broken Pitcher, The 17 

Brother Gardner's Difficulty 45 

Brudder Brown on " Apples " 95 

Christmas Chimes in Boston, etc 18 

City Man's Dream of the Country . . .Sam Walter Foss 15 

Contrast, A Eleanor C. Donnelly 67 

Creeds of the Bells, The George W. Bungay 97 

Curate's Story, The . .Jerome K. Jerome 28 

Da Strit Pianna Wallace Irwin 126 

Defense of Xantippe, A 61 

Diffidence 131 

Don't Propose 35 

Don't Use Big Words 19 

Election of the Future, The 13 

Engineers Making Love .R. J. Burdette 71 

Fashionable 64 

Finnigin to Flannigan 8. W. Gillilan 83 

First Appearance in Type 22 

Front Gate, The 68 

H'anthem, The 9 

He Didn't Amount to Shucks Sam Walter Foss 70 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

He Didn't Want the 'Scription 39 

Her Ideal Kate Masterton 62 

Her No 25 

Hour of Horror, An 24 

How it Happened 5L 

In Church — During the Litany .... 110 

Is It Anybody's Business ? 137 

Is Marriage a Failure? Mary Tylden Marshall 26 

Italian's Views on the Labor Question, An . .Joe Kerr 80 

Jim Bret Harte 73 

Kitchen Clock, The John Vance Cheney 93 

Lecture, The E. T. Corbett 53 

Mary's Little Lamb Medley 28 

Merchant and the Book-Agent, The 77 

Mick's Courtship Marie Le Baron 42 

Minister's Grievances, The 100 

Miss Jones and the Burglar S. S. Way goner 150 

Modern Girl, The Tom Masson 12 

Moriarty and McSwiggin 37 

Muckle-Mouth Meg Robert Browning 92 

My Neighbor Lizzie Clark Hardy 79 

Mysterious Duel, A 9 

Newspaper Questions 43 

No Place for Boys 65 

No Sect in Heaven 108 

Nothing at All in the Paper To-day 59 

Observation 33 

Old Man in the Model Church, The 148 

Old Story, The 28 

On a Rich Man's Table 46 

Our Choir 51 

Our Minister's Sermon 142 

Parson's Sociable, The 123 

Pat's Mistake 123 

Postponed Charles E. Baer 87 

Question, A 122 

Railroad Crossing, The Hezekiah Strong 20 

Romance of a Hammock 128 

Sam's Letter 113 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Saving Mother . 144 

Shacob's Lament 129 

Song of the Housekeeper, The 82 

Spelling Class, The E. P. Dyer 111 

Story of the Bad Little Boy, The Mark Twain 47 

St. Patrick's Martyrs 58 

St. Peter's Politeness 69 

Sympathy Reginald Heber 21 

Tale of a Stamp 152 

Tale of a Tramp, The 31 

There'll be Room in Heaven 106 

Tribulations of Biddy Malone, The .George M. Vickers 75 

V-a-s-e, The 16 

Village Gossip, The 124 

Volunteer Organist, The Sam Walter Foss 102 

Western Artist's Accomplishments, A 84 

What Men Have Not Fought For R. J. Burdette 63 

What's the Difference? 32 

What the Little Girl Said 90 

When Greek Met Greek 112 

Whistler, The 89 

Widder Spriggins' Daughter 147 

Winnie's Welcome Will Emmett 34 

Woman's Career 66 

Woman's Rights Miss Tabitha Primrose 54 

Yarn of the " Nancy Bell " W. 8. Gilbert 116 



COMIC DECLAMATIONS AND 
READINGS 



THE H'ANTHEM 

Two old British sailors were talking over their shore 
experience. One had been to a cathedral and had 
heard some very fine music, and was descanting par- 
ticularly upon an anthem which gave him much pleas- 
ure. His shipmate listened for a while, and then said: 
"I say, Bill, what's a hanthem?" "What!" replied 
Bill, "Do you mean to say you don't know what a 
hanthem is?" "Not me." "Well, then, I'll tell yer. 
If I was to tell yer, ' 'Ere, Bill, giv me that 'andspike,' 
that wouldn't be a hanthem; but was I to say 'Bill, 
Bill, Bill, giv, giv, giv me that, Bill, giv me, giv me 
that hand, handspike. Bill, giv, giv me that, hand, 
handspike, hand, handspike. Ah-men, ah-men. Bill- 
givemethathandspike, spike, ah-men!' why, that would 
be a hanthem." 

Nautical Gazette. 



A MYSTERIOUS DUEL 

The following account of a duel was furnished to 
Harper's Weekly. 

A duel was lately fought in Texas by Alexander 
Shott and John S. Nott. Nott was shot, and Shott 
was not. In this case it is better to be Shott than Nott. 

9 



10 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

There was a rumor that Nott was not shot, and Shott 
avows that he shot Nott, which proves either that the 
shot Shott at Nott was not shot, or that Nott was shot 
notwithstanding. Circumstantial evidence is not al- 
ways good. It may be made to appear on trial that 
the shot Shott shot shot Nott or, as accidents with fire- 
arms are frequent, it may be possible that the shot 
Shott shot shot Shott himself, when the whole affair 
would resolve itself into its original elements, and 
Shott would be shot, and Nott would be not. We 
think, however, that the shot Shott shot shot not Shott, 
but Nott; anyway, it is hard to tell who was shot. 



ADOON THE LANE 

Upon one stormy Sunday, 

Coming adoon the lane, 
Were a score of bonny lassies — 

And the sweetest, I maintain, 
Was Caddie, 
That I took beneath my pladdie 

To shield her from the rain. 

She said the daisies blushed 
For the kiss that I had ta'en; 

I wadna hae thought the lassie 
Would sae of a kiss complain. 
"Now, laddie ! 

I winnie stay under your pladdie, 
If I gang home in the rain!" 

But ane after Sunday, 

When cloud there nae was ane, 
This sel-same winsome lassie — 

We chanced to meet in the lane — 
Said Caddie, 
"Why dinna ye wear your pladdie? 

Who kens but it may rain?" 



SELECTED READINGS 11 



BABY IN CHURCH 

Aunt Nellie had fashioned a dainty thing, 

Of Hamburg and ribbon and lace, 
And mamma had said, as she settled it round 

Our beautiful baby's face, 
Where the dimples play and the laughter lies 
Like sunbeams hid in her violet eyes : 
"If the day is pleasant and baby is good, 
She may go to church and wear her new hood.' 

Then Ben, aged six, began to tell, 

In elder-brotherly way, 
How very, very good she must be 

If she went to church next day. 
He told of the church, the choir, and the crowd, 
And the man up in front who talked so loud; 
But she must not talk, nor laugh, nor sing, 
But just sit as quiet as anything. 

And so, on a beautiful Sabbath in May, 
When the fruit-buds burst into flowers, 

(There wasn't a blossom on bush or tree 
So fair as this blossom of ours,) 

All in her white dress, dainty and new, 

Our baby sat in the family pew. 

The grand, sweet music, reverent air, 

The solemn hush, and the voice of prayer 

Filled all her baby soul with awe, 

As she sat in her little place, 
And the holy look that the angels wear 

Seemed pictured upon her face. 
And the sweet words uttered so long ago 
Come into my mind with a rhythmic flow: 
"Of such is the kingdom of heaven," said He, 
And I knew that He spake of such as she. 



12 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

The sweet-voiced organ pealed forth again, 

The collection-box came round, 
And baby dropped her penny in, 

And smiled at the clinking sound. 
Alone in the choir Aunt Nellie stood, 
Waiting the close of the soft prelude, 
To begin her solo. High and strong, 
She struck the first note; clear and long 

She held it, and all were charmed but one, 

Who, with all the might she had, 
Sprang to her little feet and cried : 

"Aunt Nellie you's being bad!" 
The audience smiled, the minister coughed, 
The little boys in the corner laughed, 
The tenor-man shook like an aspen leaf 
And hid his face in his handkerchief. 

And poor Aunt Nellie never could tell 

How she finished that terrible strain, 
But says that nothing on earth would tempt 

Her to go through the scene again. 
So, we have decided, perhaps 'tis best, 
For her sake, ours, and all the rest, 
That we wait, maybe, for a year or two, 
Ere our baby reenter the family pew. 

Minnie M. Gow. 



THE MODERN GIRL 

She warbled the soprano with dramatic sensibility, 
And dallied with the organ when the organist was 
sick; 
She got up for variety a brand-new church society, 
And spoke with great facility about the new church 
brick. 



SELECTED READINGS 13 

She shed great tears of sorrow for the heathen immo- 
rality, 
And organized a system that would open up their 
eyes; 
In culinary clarity she won great popularity, 

And showed her personality in lecturing on pies. 

For real unvarnished culture she betrayed a great pro- 
pensity ; 
Her Tuesday-talks were famous, her Friday-glim- 
mers great. 
She grasped at electricity with mental elasticity, 

And lectured with intensity about the marriage state. 

But with the calm assurance of her wonderful capacity, 
She wouldn't wash the dishes, but she'd talk all day 
on rocks, 
And while she dwelt on density, or space and its im- 
mensity, 
With such refined audacity, her mother darned her 
socks ! 

Tom Masson. 



THE ELECTION OF THE FUTURE 

"Well, Bessie, the right of suffrage is finally given 
to women, and they both vote and hold office. Who 
are you going to vote for?" 

"Oh ! I really don't know. But don't you think it 
is just perfectly lovely for us to have the right to vote 
at all?" 

"Oh! it is too awfully jolly for anything." 

"But do you know, I was jus-t worried to death for 
fear Madam Fittem wouldn't have my dress done in 
time for election day." 

"But she did, I see; and it's just lovely. I was 
worried awfully over my election bonnet, but it came 



14 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

at the last moment, or I wouldn't have come near the 
polls." 

"Are you going to vote for Mamie Berkley for City 
Treasurer ?" 

"No, I'm not; we've been out for a long time, and I 
think she's just horrid." 

"I think so too; she dresses away beyond her means, 
and there'd be no living in the same town with her if 
she was City Treasurer. What do you think of Mrs. 
St. John for Mayor?" 

"Oh ! I think she'd be lovely. She has such a queenly 
manner and dresses in such perfect taste; but most of 
the girls are voting for Howard Percy for Mayor; he's 
so handsome you know." 

"Oh ! yes ; but then he's so conceited and such a 
dreadful flirt. He's engaged to half the girls in town 
just to secure their votes." 

"The mean, horrid thing !" 

"What do you think of Mrs. Rauler for Congress?" 

"I think she'd better stay at home and look after her 
children. There are six or seven of them running 
around here now, peddling out her tickets. Do tell me, 
Bessie, are my frizzes all coming out?" 

"No, they look nicely. How are mine?" 
. "Lovely! lovely! Your hair does frizz so beauti- 
fully. Look at Mr. Meek electioneering for his wife 
for Representative. They say if she's elected she's 
going to leave her six-weeks '-old baby at home with 
him while she goes to the Capitol for the legislative 
session." 

"Think of it ! and won't she dress, though ! I'd vote 
for Hugh Mandeville, but they say he's engaged to 
Helen Smythe, and I can't endure her. She's around 
here some place trying to get the other girls to vote for 
Hugh !" 

"I call that cheeky. But I sha'n't vote for him, 
Margie Montague is my candidate, she's going to invite 
me to Washington if she's elected." 

"How lovely that will be! I've half a mind to vote 



SELECTED READINGS 15 

for Margie myself. Do you know, Belle Fielding and 
Libbie Larelle have had an awful quarrel over the office 
of City Councilman?" 

"No; how perfectly dreadful!" 

"Isn't it? Libbie accused Belle of buying up votes 
with French bon-bons and boxes of kid gloves; and 
Belle told right out before everybody that eight of 
Libbie's upper teeth were false and that her lovely 
waves are not her own hair." 

"How mean of Belle! If I was Libbie I'd never 
forgive her. I intended voting for Belle; but I sha'n't 
now. I cannot conscientiously vote for a girl who could 
deliberately give another girl away in that shameful 
manner. It's a mercy she didn't know all I know about 
Libbie or the poor girl might have been mortified clear 
out of the campaign. I shall scratch Belle." 

"I've scratched about everybody on my ticket." 

"So have I; but there comes Belle now with Libbie 
Larelle, and I don't care to meet them, so let's be off. 
Most of the girls running for office are so horrid." 

Detroit Free Press. 



CITY MAN'S DREAM OF THE COUNTRY 

I would flee from the city's rule and law, 

From its fashion and form cut loose, 
And go where the strawberry grows on its straw, 

And the gooseberry grows on its goose; 
Where the catnip tree is climbed by the cat 

As she crouches for her prey — 
The guileless and unsuspecting rat 

On the rattan bush at play. 
I will watch at ease the saffron cow, 

And her cowlet in their glee, 
As they leap in joy from bough to bough 

On the top of the cowslip tree; 
Where the musical partridge drums on his drum, 

And the woodchuck chucks his wood, 



16 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

And the dog devours the dogwood plum 
In the primitive solitude. 

Oh, let me drink from the moss-grown pump 

That was hewn from the pumpkin tree, 
Eat mush and milk from a rural stump, 

From form and fashion free; 
New-gathered mush from the mushroom vine, 

And milk from the milkweed sweet, 
With luscious pineapple from the pine — 

Such food as the gods might eat! 
And then to the whitewashed dairy I'll turn., 

Where the dairymaid hastening hies, 
Her ruddy and golden butter to churn, 

From the milk of her butterflies! 
And I'll rise at morn with the early bird, 

To the fragrant farmyard pass, 
When the farmer turns his beautiful herd 

Of grasshoppers out to grass. 

Sam Walter Foss. 



THE V-A-S-E 

Far from the crowd they stand apart, 
The maidens four and the works of art 

And none might tell from sight alone 
In which had culture ripest grown. 

The Gotham million, fair to see, 
The Philadelphia pedigree, 

The Boston mind of azure blue 

And the soulful soul from Kalamazoo. 

For all loved Art in a seemly way 
With an earnest soul and a capital A. 



SELECTED READINGS 17 

Long they worshiped, but no one broke 
The sacred stillness, until up spoke 

The Western one from the nameless place, 
Who, blushing, said, "What a lovely vace!" 

Over three faces a sad smile flew, 
And they edged away from Kalamazoo. 

But Gotham's mighty soul was stirred, 

To crush the stranger with one small word. 

Deftly hiding reproof in praise. 

She cries, " 'Tis indeed a lovely vaze !" 

But brief her unworthy triumph, when 
The lofty one from the house of Penn, 

With the consciousness of two Grandpapas, 
Exclaimed, "It is quite a lovely vahz," 

And glanced around with anxious thrill 
Awaiting the word of Beacon Hill. 

But the Boston maid smiles courteouslee, 
And gently murmurs, "Oh, pardon me! 

"I did not catch your remark because 

I was so entranced with that charming vawz." 



THE BROKEN PITCHER 

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping, 

With a pitcher of milk, from the Fair of Coleraine, 

When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled, 
And with all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. 

"Oh, what shall I do now? — 'twas looking at you now, 
Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again ! 



18 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

'Twas the pride of my dairy: O Barney M'Cleary! 
You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine." 

I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, 
That such a misfortune should give her such pain. 

A kiss then I gave her; and, ere I did leave her, 
She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again. 

'Twas hay-making season, — I can't tell the reason- 
Misfortunes will never come single, 'tis plain; 

For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster — 

Sure, never a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. 



CHRISTMAS CHIMES IN BOSTON, PHILA- 
DELPHIA, NEW YORK AND CHICAGO 



Little Penelope Socrates, 

A Boston maid of four, 
Wide opened her eyes on Xmas morn 

And looked the landscape o'er. 
"What is't that inflates my bas de bleu?" 

She said with dignity; 
" 'Tis Ibsen in the original ! 

Oh joy beyond degree!" 

II 

Miss Mary Cadwalader Rittenhouse 

Of Philadelphia town, 
Waked up — as much as they ever do there 

And watched the snow come down. 
"I'm glad that it is Christmas," 

You might have heard her say, 
"For my family's one year older 

Than it was last Christmas day." 



SELECTED READINGS 19 

III 

'Twas Christmas in giddy Gotham, 

And Miss Irene de Jones 
Awoke at morn and yawned and yawned, 

And stretched her languid bones. 
"I'm sorry that it's Christmas, 

Papa at home will stay, 
For 'Change is closed and he won't make 

A single cent all day." 

IV 

Windily dawned the Christmas 

In the city by the lake, 
And Miss Arabell Wabash Breezy 

Was instantly awake. 
"What's that thing in my stocking? 

Well, in two jiffs I'll know!" 
And she drew a grand piano out 

From way down in the toe. 



DON'T USE BIG WORDS 

In promulgating your esoteric cogitations, or articula- 
ting your superficial sentimentalities and amicable, phil- 
osophical or psychological observations, beware of plat- 
itudinous ponderosity. Let your conversational com- 
munications possess a clarified conciseness, a compacted 
comprehensibleness, coalescent consistency, and a con- 
catenated cogency. Eschew all conglomerations of 
flatulent garrulity, jejune babblement, and asinine 
affectations. Let your extemporaneous descantings and 
unpremeditated expatiations have intelligibility and 
veracious vivacity, without rhodomontade or thrason- 
ical bombast. Sedulously avoid all polysyllabic pro- 
fundity, pompous prolixity, psittaceous vacuity, ven- 
triloquial verbosity, and vaniloquent vapidity. Shun 



20 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

double-entendres, prurient jocosity, and pestiferous 
profanity, obscurant or apparent. 

In other words, talk plainly, briefly, naturally, sensi- 
bly, truthfully, purely. Keep from "slang;" don't put 
on airs ; say what you mean ; mean what you say. And 
don't use big words ! 



THE RAILROAD CROSSING 

I can't tell much about the thing, 'twas done so power- 
ful quick; 

But 'pears to me I got a most outlandish heavy lick: 

It broke my leg, and tore my skulp, and jerked my 
arm most out. 

But take a seat: I'll try and tell just how it kem about. 

You see, I'd started down to town, with that 'ere team 

of mine, 
A-haulin' down a load o' corn to Ebenezer Kline, 
And drivin' slow; for, jest about a day or two before, 
The off-horse run a splinter in his foot and made it 

sore. 

You know the railroad cuts across the road at Martin's 

Hole: 
Well, thar I seed a great big sign, raised high upon 

a pole; 
I thought I'd stop and read the thing^and find out 

what it said, 
And so I stopped the hosses on the railroad-track, and 

read. 

I ain't no scholar, rekollect, and so I had to spell, 
I started kinder cautious like, with R-A-I- and L; 
And that spelt "rail" as clear as mud; R-O-A-D was 

"road." 
I lumped 'em: "railroad" was the word, and that 'ere 

much I knowed. 



SELECTED READINGS 21 

C-R-0 and double S, with I-N-G to boot, 

Made "crossing" jest as plain as Noah Webster dared 

to do't. 
"Railroad crossing" — good enough! — L double-O-K, 

"look;" 
And I wos lookin' all the time, and spellm' like a book. 

O-U-T spelt "out" jest right; and there it was, "look 

out," 
I's kinder cur'us like, to know jest what 'twas all 

about ; 
F-O-R and T-H-E; 'twas then "look out for the—" 
And then I tried the next word; it commenced with 

E-N-G. 

I'd got that fur, when suddintly there came an 

awful whack; 
A thousand fiery thunderbolts just scooped me off the 

track. 
The hosses went to Davy Jones, the wagon went to 

smash, 
And I was histed seven yards above the tallest ash. 

I didn't come to life ag'in fur 'bout a day or two; 
But, though I'm crippled up a heap, I sorter struggled 

through ; 
It ain't the pain, nor 'tain't the loss of that 'ere team 

of mine; 
But, stranger, how I'd like to know the rest of that 

'ere sign! 

, Hezekiah Strong. 

SYMPATHY 

A knight and a lady once met in a grove, 
While each was in quest of a fugitive love; 
A river ran mournfully murmuring by, 
And they wept in its waters for sympathy. 



22 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

"Oh, never was knight such a sorrow that bore!" 
"Oh, never was maid so deserted before !" 
"From life and its woes let us instantly fly, 
And jump in together for company!" 

They searched for an eddy that suited the deed, 
But here was a bramble and there was a weed. 
"How tiresome it is," said the fair, with a sigh; 
So they sat down to rest them in company. 

They gazed at each other, the maid and the knight, 
How fair was her form, and how goodly his height! 
"One mournful embrace," sobbed the youth, "ere we 

die!" 
So kissing and crying kept company. 

"Oh, had I but loved such an angel as you!" 
"Oh, had but my swain been a quarter as true!" 
"To miss such perfection how blinded was I !" 
Sure now they were excellent company. 

At length spoke the lass, 'twixt a smile and a tear, 
"The weather is cold for a watery bier ; 
When summer returns we may easily die, 
Till then let us sorrow in company." 

Reginald Heber. 



FIRST APPEARANCE IN TYPE 

Ah, here it is! I'm famous now; 

An author and a poet; 
It really is in print. Hurrah! 

How proud I'll be to show it. 
And gentle Anna ! what a thrill 

Will animate her breast, 
To read these ardent lines, and know 

To whom they are addressed. 



SELECTED READINGS 23 

Why, bless my soul! here's something wrong; 

What can the paper mean 
By talking of the "graceful brook/' 

That "ganders o'er the green ?" 
And here's a t instead of r, 

Which makes it "tippling rill/' 
We'll seek the "shad" instead of "shade/' 

And "hell" instead of "hill." 

"Thy looks so" — what? — I recollect; 

'Twas "sweet/' and then 'twas "kind;" 
And now, to think, — the stupid fool 

For "bland" has printed "blind." 
Was ever such provoking work? 

('Tis curious, by the by, 
That anything is rendered blind 

By giving it an i.) 

The color of the "rose" is "nose," 

"Affection" is "affliction;" 
(I wonder if the likeness holds 

In fact as well as fiction?) 
"Thou art a friend." The r is gone; 

Whoever would have deemed 
That such a trifling thing could change 

A friend into a fiend? 

"Thou art the same," is rendered "lame;" 

It really is too bad! 
And here because an i is out, 

My lovely "maid" is "mad." 
They drove her blind by poking in 

An i — a process new — 
And now they've gouged it out again, 

And made her crazy, too. 

I'll read no more. What shall I do? 

I'll never dare to send it. 
The paper's scattered far and wide, 

'Tis now too late to mend it. 



24 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

fame! thou cheat of human life, 
Why did I ever write! 

1 wish my poem had been burnt, 
Before it saw the light. 

Was ever such a horrid hash, 

In poetry or prose? 
I've said she was a "fiend!" and praised 

The color of her "nose." 
I wish I had that printer here' 

About a half a minute, 
I'd bang him to his heart's content, 

And with an h begin it. 



AN HOUR OF HORROR 

It was close upon the hour of midnight. 

A man sat alone in an upper room in a tumble-down 
tenement, — a man whose face showed by its furrowed 
brow, glaring eyes and pallid lips the effects of a 
terrible mental struggle going on within him. 

Before him were several pages of manuscript, and 
his nervous hand, convulsively clutching a pen, was 
rapidly adding to them. 

Close to his right hand and frequently touched by 
it as he plied his pen was a gleaming, glittering object 
of ivory, silver, and steel,— a loaded revolver. 

The window beside him was open, and through it 
the cool breeze entered and fanned his fevered brow. 
The night without was calm and placid. Nature was 
lovely, bathed in the light of the summer moon ; but the 
man was oblivious to the beauties of the night. He 
glanced up at the clock now and then, and observing 
the long hand climbing up the incline toward the figure 
twelve, he redoubled his labor at his manuscript. 

Anon he glanced at the revolver on the desk beside 
him. He touched its ivory handle as if faltering in 
his resolution; and then went on with his writing. 



SELECTED READINGS 25 

Hark! 

What sound is that that is borne upon the breeze of 
the summer night? A long, low wail, like the cry of 
a woman in mortal anguish. 

The man started like a guilty soul, dashed the dews 
of perspiration from his clammy brow, and uttered an 
incoherent exclamation. 

Again ! again, that moaning, uncanny cry ! 

The man heard it and groaned aloud. He dashed 
aside the last page of his manuscript, and glanced again 
at the clock. The hands marked the hour of midnight. 
He grasped the revolver with a resolute air and ex- 
claimed through his clenched teeth: 

"It must be done !" 

And going to the window he fired twice. . . . 
There was a scattering sound in the back-yard, and 
the next day a gray cat was found dead close to the 
wood-shed. The story and the deed were done. 



HER NO 

He had just told her of his love and devotion and 
asked her to be his wife. She answered him by say- 
ing, no it can never be. I like you as a friend, I res- 
pect you, I admire you, but that is not love, you know, 
and I cannot be your wife. But do not say anything 
rash, try to endure it, for I am sure there are plenty 
more worthy of you than I am. 

He — Very pleasant weather we are having. 

She — Yes, very. 

He — I am glad of it, too, and hope it will continue. 
You see my friend Jack's little sister is coming to the 
city to-morrow to stay some time, and he wants me to 
show her the sights. She's a dear little child, with 
golden hair and heavenly blue eyes, and the sweetest 
face imaginable. I never saw such a perfect face as 
hers when I last saw her. 



26 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

How long is it — since you — saw her? 

About ten years, I think. She was just eight years 
old then. 

Eight and ten are — horrors ! If you dare to go near 
that girl, I'll — I'll die — so there! 



IS MARRIAGE A FAILURE? 

The knot was tied, the pair were wed, 
And then the smiling bridegroom said 
Unto the preacher, Shall I pay to you 
The usual fee to-day, or would you 
Have me wait a year, 
And give you then a hundred clear, 
If I shall find the marriage state 
As happy as I estimate ? 
The preacher lost no time in thought, 
To his reply no study brought. 
There were no wrinkles on his brow. 
Said he, I'll take three dollars now. 

Mary Tylden Marshall. 



MEDLEY— MARY'S LITTLE LAMB 

The following is the Chinese version of Mary and 
her lamb: 

Was gal name Moll had lamb, 

Flea all samee white snow, 
Evly place Moll gal walkee, 
Ba ba hoppee long too. 

We heard a son of Erin trying to surround Mary 
and her little lamb the other day, and this is the way 
he understood it: 



SELECTED READINGS 27 

Begorry, Mary had a little shape, 

And the wool was white intoirly; 
An'" wherever Mary wud sthir her sthumps, 

The young shape would follow her complately. 

So celebrated a poem should have a French version : 

La petite Marie had le jeune muttong, 
Zee wool was blanchee as ze snow; 

And everywhere La Belle Marie went, 
Le jeune muttong was zure to go. 

Oui Monsieur; you avez un very large imagination; 
mais comment est this, pour Deutsche: 

Dot Mary haf got ein leedle schaf; 

Mit hair yust like some vool; 
Und all der place dot gal did vent, 

Das schaf go like em fool. 

We inscribe the following version to the dear girls 
of Boston: 

Tradition testifies, and history verifies the 
testimony, that one Mary was at one 
time possessed of a youth- 
ful member of the 
genus sheep, 
Whose excellence of blood and neatness of 
manner rendered his, or her, exterior 
fringe as beautifully trans- 
lucent as the driven, 
beautiful snow; 
And it is stated in the most authentic manner 
(pp. 2 and 3, vol. 1, Nursery Rhymes, q. 
v.) that nowhere did the charming 
little lady (probably a Bos- 
ton girl) perambulate, 
But the aforementioned quadrupedal verte- 
brate did with alacrity ap- 
proximate thither. 



28 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 



THE OLD STORY 

She told him that men were false, 
That love was a dreadful bore, 

As they danced to the Nanon waltz 
On the slippery ball-room floor. 

He said that her woman's face, 
The crown of her shining hair. 

Her subtle feminine grace, 

Were haunting him everywhere. 

He told her his orders had come 
To march with the dawn of day. 

A soldier must "follow the drum" — 
No choice but to mount and away. 

A sudden tremor of fear 

Her rallying laughter smote, 

As he gave a souvenir — 

A button from off his coat. 

He went to the distant war, 
And fought as men should do; 

But she forgot him afar 

In the passion for something new. 

His trinket amongst the rest, 

She wore at her dainty throat; 

But a bullet had pierced his breast 
Where the button was off his coat. 



THE CURATE'S STORY 

It was Christmas-eve ! Christmas-eve at my Uncle 
John's, in the dimly lighted front parlor, where the 
flickering fire-light threw strange shadows on the highly 
colored wall-paper, while without, in the wild street, 



SELECTED READINGS 29 

the storm raged pitilessly, and the wind, like some un- 
quiet spirit, flew, moaning, across the square, and passed, 
wailing with a troubled cry, round by the milk-shop. 

We had had supper, and were sitting round, talking 
and smoking. 

Aunt went to bed soon after supper, leaving the local 
curate, old Dr. Scrubbles, Mr. Samuel Coombes, our 
member of the County Council, Teddy Biffles, and my- 
self to keep Uncle company. We agreed that it was 
too early to give in for some time yet, so Uncle 
brewed another bowl of punch; and I think we all did 
justice to that — at least I know I did. 

Uncle John told us a very funny story in the course 
of the evening. Oh, it was a funny story ! I forget 
what it was about now, but I know it amused me very 
much at the time; I do not think I ever laughed so 
much in all my life. It is strange that I cannot recol- 
lect that story too, because he told it to us four times. 
And it was entirely our own fault that he did not tell 
it us a fifth. After that, the Doctor sung a very clever 
song, in the course of which he imitated all the differ- 
ent animals in a farm-yard. He did mix them a bit. 
He brayed for the bantam cock, and crowed for the 
pig ; but we knew what he meant, all right. , 

Oh, we did have such fun that evening! 

And then, somehow or other, we must have got on to 
ghosts; because the next recollection I have is that we 
were telling ghost stories to each other. 

Teddy Biffles told the first story. He called it 
Johnson and Emily; or, the Faithful Ghost. It made 
me cry very much, Biffles told it with so much feeling. 

We had some more punch and then the curate told us 
a story. I could not make head or tail of the curate's 
story, so I cannot retail it to you. We none of us 
could make head or tail of that story. It was a good 
story enough, so far as material went. There seemed 
to be an enormous amount of plot and enough incident 
to have made a dozen novels. 

I should suppose that every human being our curate 



30 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

had ever known or met or heard of was brought into 
that story. There were simply hundreds of them. 
Every five seconds he would introduce a completely 
fresh collection of characters, accompanied by a 
brand-new set of incidents. 

This was the sort of story it was: 

"Well, then, my uncle went into the garden and got 
his gun, but, of course, it wasn't there, and Scroggins 
said he didn't believe it." 

"Didn't believe what? Who's Scroggins?" 

"Scroggins ! Oh, why, he was the other man, you 
know — it was his wife." 

"What was his wife — what's she got to do with it?" 

"Why, that's what I'm telling you. It was she that 
found the hat. She'd come up with her cousin to Lon- 
don — her cousin was my sister-in-law and the other 
niece had married a man named Evans, and Evans, 
when it was all over, had taken the box round to Mr. 
Jacobs because Jacobs's father had seen the man when 
he was alive, and when he was dead, Joseph — " 

"Now look here, never you mind Evans and the 
box; what's become of your uncle and the gun?" 

"The gun! What gun?" 

"Why, the gun your uncle used to keep in the gar- 
den, and that wasn't there. What did he do with it? 
Did he kill any of these people with it — these Jacobses 
and Evanses and Scrogginses and Josephses? Be- 
cause, if so, it was a good and useful work, and we 
should enjoy hearing about it." 

"No — oh, no — how could he? He had been built up 
alive in the wall, you know, and when Edward IV. 
spoke to the abbot about it my sister said that in her 
then state of health she could not. So they christened 
him Horatio, after her own son, who had been killed at 
Waterloo, before he was born, and Lord Napier him- 
self said — " 

"Look here, do you know what you are talking 
about?" we asked him at this point. 

He said no, but he knew it was every word of it true, 



SELECTED READINGS 31 

because his aunt had seen it herself. Whereupon we 
covered him over with the table-cloth and he went to 
sleep. 

Jerome K. Jerome. 



THE TALE OF A TRAMP 

Let me sit down a minute; 

A stone's got into my shoe. 
Don't you commence your cussin'— 

I ain't done nuthin' to you. 
Yes, I'm a tramp — what of it? 

Folks say we ain't no good — 
Tramps have got to live, I reckon, 

Though people don't think we should. 
Once I was young and handsome; 

Had plenty of cash and clothes — 
That was before I got to tipplin', 

And gin got in my nose. 
Way down in the Lehigh Valley 

Me and my people grew; 
I was a blacksmith, Captain, 

Yes, and a good one, too. 
Me and my wife, and Nellie — 

Nellie was just sixteen, 
And she was the pootiest cretur 

The valley had ever seen. 
Beaux! Why, she had a dozen, 

Had 'em from near and fur; 
But they was mostly farmers — 

None of them suited her. 
But there was a city chap, 

Handsome, young and tall — 
Ah! curse him! I wish I had him 

To strangle against yonder wall! 
He was the man for Nellie — 

She didn't know no ill; 



32 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Mother, she tried to stop it, 

But you know young girls' will. 
Well, it's the same old story — 

Common enough, you say; 
But he was a soft-tongued devil, 

And got her to run away. 
More than a month, or later, 

We heard from the poor young thing- 
He had run away and left her 

Without any weddin' ring! 
Back to her home we brought her, 

Back to her mother's side; 
Filled with a ragin' fever, 

She fell at my feet and died! 
Frantic with shame and sorrow, 

Her mother began to sink, 
And died in less than a fortnight; 

That's when I took to drink. 
Come, give me a glass now, Colonel, 

And I'll be on my way, 
And I'll tramp till I catch that scoundrel, 

If it takes till the Judgment Day. 



WHAT'S THE DIFFERENCE? 

Pat Flynn had sixty-seven hats, 

And wanted sixty more; 
It was an odd, strange whim of Pat's, 

For only one he wore; 
But he would toil by night or day 
To get a hat to lay away. 

'Twas "Hats" the first thing in the mora. 

And "Hats" at noon and night; 
The neighbors laughed the man to scorn, 

And said it was but right 
To send such crazy cranks as he 
To spend their days at Kankakee. 



SELECTED READINGS 33 

A million dollars Peter Doyle 

Had laid away in store, 
Yet late and early did he toil 

To get a million more. 
He could not use the half he had, 
And yet he wanted "more/* bedad. 

His neighbors praised him to the skies, 

Wherever he might go; 
They called him great and good and wise. 

And bowed before him low. 
Is there such difference as that 
Between a dollar and a hat? 



OBSERVATION 

You may notch it on de palin's as a mighty risky plan, 
To make your judgment by de clo'es dat kivers up a 

man, 
For I hardly need to tell you how you often come across 
A fifty-dollar saddle on a twenty-dollar hoss. 

An' wakin* in de low groun's, you diskiver as you go 
Dat de boss's shuck may hide de meanes' nubbin' in a 

row. 
I think a man has got a mighty slender chance for 

hebin' 
Dat holds on to his piety but one day out ob seben; 

Dat talks about de sinners wid a heap o' solemn chat, 
And neber drops a nickel in the missionary hat; 
Dat's foremost in de meetin' house for raisin' all de 

chunes, 
But lays aside his ligion wid his Sunday pantaloons ! 

I neber judge o' people dat I meets along de way 
By de places whar dey come fum an' de houses whar 
dey stay; 



34> COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

For de bantam chicken's awful fond o' roostin' pretty 

? high, 
An' de turkey-buzzard sails above de eagle in de sky; 
Dey ketches little minners in the middle ob de sea, 
An' you find de smalles' possum up de biggest kind o' 
tree. 

Scribner's Magazine. 



WINNIE'S WELCOME 

Well, Shamus, what brought ye? 

It's dead, sure, I thought ye — 
What's kept ye this fortnight from calling on me? 

Stop there! Don't be lyin': 

It's no use denyin'-*- 
I know you've been waitin' on Kitty Magee. 

She's ould and she's homely; 

There's girls young and comely, 
Who've loved you much longer and better than she; 

But, 'deed I'm not carin', 

I'm glad I've no share in 
The love of a boy who'd love Kitty Magee. 

Away! I'm not cryin', 

Your charge I'm denyin', 
You're wrong to attribute such weakness to me ; 

If tears I am showin', 

I'd have ye be knowin' 
They're shed out of pity for Kitty Magee. 

For mane an' consated, 

Wid pride overweighted, 
Cold, heartless and brutal she'll find ye to be; 

When ye she'll be gettin', 

She'll soon be regrettin' 
She e'er changed her name from plain Kitty Magee. 



SELECTED READINGS 35 

What's that? Am I dhramin'? 

You've only been shammin' — 
Just thryin' to test the affection in me? 

But you're the sly divil! 

There, now! Plase be civil; 
Don't hug me to death — I'm not Kitty Magee. 

Your kisses confuse me; 

Well, I'll not refuse ye — 
I know you'll be tindher and lovin' wid me; 

To show my conthrition 

For doubts and suspicion, 
I'll ax for first bridesmaid Miss Kitty Magee. 

Will Emmett. 



DON'T PROPOSE 

Only don't propose to me ! I really like you so ; 
We suit each other charmingly, at ball or feast, you 

know. 
We can brighten for each other best the revel's careless 

hours ; 
We can gather from each other still the moment's 

passing flowers; 
We ever best can gladden life's river as it flows 
Through sunny beds and quiet — but I hope you won't 

propose. 

No voice suits mine so well as yours, in gay duet or 
song, 

No other arm can guide me safe, through the polka's 
whirling throng; 

No other laugh reechoes half so merrily to mine, 

No other hand so tastefully my bouquet's flowers can 
twine ; 

None save me half so cleverly from bores — my dead- 
liest foes; 



36 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

I cannot do without you — oh! I hope you won't pro- 
pose! 

Why will you talk of sentiment? you never used to talk 
Of aught but fun or nonsense, in long quadrille or walk. 
Why will you sigh? I really like your ringing laugh 

the best. 
Why frown at me for lingering with another joyous 

guest ? 
Why will you talk of hopes and fears? why hint at 

friendship's close? 
You never used to tease me so — oh! I hope you won't 

propose ! 

For you know I would refuse you — I must love before 

I wed; 
What should we do together when the summer sun had 

fled? 
And then, we must be strangers — must pass each other 

by, 

With flushing cheek and distant bow, and cold, averted 

eye. 
Why doom our gay companionship to so dolorous a 

close ? 
We like each other much too well — I hope you won't 

propose ! 

Let us still be smiling when we part, and happy when 
we meet; 

Let us together pluck the bloom of the flowers at our 
feet; 

Let us leave the deeper things alone, and laugh, and 
sing, and dance; 

And flirt a little now and then, to speed the hour, per- 
chance. 

Oh! there's a deal of pleasure in sunny links like 
those ; 

Don't break the rosy ties just yet — dear Charley, 
don't propose! 



SELECTED READINGS 37 



MORIARTY AND McSWIGGIN 

Bein' a lawyer by perfession an' requirin' a great 
deal of rest for me brain, I took a shmall room on the 
fourt' floor of a tinimint house raycintly, an' I had 
the pavemint privilege o' keepin' a pig, but I didn't 
avail meself of it. Afther I had been livin' thar for 
about three weeks, I had the pleasure o' makin' the 
'quaintance of a gintleman by the name of Moriarty 
that was livin' on the back of the same floor that I 
was residin' on. He was very well educated an* a 
man of a great deal of political inflooance. He was 
a very wealthy man. He was a contractor. He does 
be drivin' a cyart for the man that's a-fillin' them 
vacant lots round the corner, some of you may know 
him. I also had the opportunity o' meetin' a gintle- 
man residin' directly below me by the name o' Mc- 
Swiggin. He. was a wealthy man also. He was a 
banker. He does be carryin' a little black bag 'round 
for a man that has a bankin' house down in Wall 
Street. 

Will — one mornin' about half-past six — we was all 
very early risers in the house on 'count of our health 
— I heerd them two havin' a kind of discussion in the 
hallway about the transmigration of souls. Now that's 
a subject, ye know, that no man wants to tackle unless 
he knows all about it — but bein' interested in the sub- 
ject meself, I wint out in the hallway to hear what 
kind o' an argymint they would use. 

I heerd Mr. McSwiggin makin' use of an argymint 
to Mr. Moriarty that was calculated to convince any 
one that wasn't too shtubborn. But there is some peo- 
ple it makes no difference what you tell 'em they'd be 
of the same opinion still. I heerd Moriarty make use 
o' the argymint that he'd kick a lung out of him. Mc- 
Swiggin answered this argymint by shtatin' to Mo- 
riarty that he'd hit him a puck in the forehead, an' 
have his hide dryin' on the fence in the mornin'. Well, 



38 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

one argymint like that led on to another until finally 
they got kind o' excited. McSwiggin wint out on the 
sidewalk, an' says he, Moriarty, come out. Well, 
Moriarty, like an idiot, went out to him. In about five 
minutes I helped carry him in the house, an' the next 
mornin' was they down at the coort, an' bein' a lawyer 
an' 'quainted with the gintlemen that was implicated, 
I went down to the coort room meself. The judge 
he kind o' half rose up when he seed me comin' in, and 
says I to him, says I, Yer honor, I am 'quainted 
with the pris'ner at the bar, says I, an' wid yer koind 
permission, says I, I'd like to spake a few words in 
his behalf. Well, the judge said I could do it. Now 
the first thing that any fust-class lawyer would do 
would be to ketch the jury and then you have the whole 
case right under your thumb. So, says I, I never had 
the pleasure, says I, of addressin' a more intelligent- 
looking jury in me life, says I, but I observe that 
there's a few of those in the jury box, says I, that 
don't seem to understand exactly what I'm talkin' 
about, says I. But, says I, on the other hand, says 
I, there's a few very extraordinary intelligent-lookin' 
men in the jury box, says I, an' I'm led to believe by 
the manner in which they gaze upon me, says I, 
that they don't understand what I'm talkin' about 
either, says I, an' for that reason, says I, I'll elucidate. 
Well, when I give 'em that word they give a kind of a 
lep, an' they seed the kind of man they had to deal 
with and that I was no slouch an' that I was well 
posted. Now, says I, gentlemen of the jury, says I, 
I will give you the law in the case, says I, an' to 
illustrate that to you, says I, I'll tell you a little anec- 
dote (an anecdote will go a long way wid a jury). I 
was takin' dinner a Sunday week wid his family, says 
I, an' I heerd him makin' use of the remark to his 
wife, Mary Ann, says he, I am a mild mannered man, 
says he, an' I'd scorn to rise me hand to strike a woman, 
says he, but if you evir have corn beef and cabbage 
again on a Sunday dinner, says he, I'll take that chair, 



SELECTED READINGS 39 

says he, an' I'll break your back. Now this anecdote, 
gintlemin of the jury, says I, will illustrate to you, 
says I, that he is a mild mannered man, says I, an' a 
man that would think twice before he would do a 
thing once, says I. An' he put it to him, says I, in a 
mild manner, an' he had no right to go out if he didn't 
want to, says I, and he has nine points of the law in 
his favor, says I, an' you can't touch him. Then I 
seed that I had the jury completely wid me and I 
could sway them this way or swing them that way, 
and that's the time you drop the jury. I thin turned 
me attention to the judge, an' he bein' a man more like 
meself — of coorse I would not undertake to give him 
the law in the case — I says to him merely, says I, Yer 
honor, says I, this is a simple case, says I, of habus 
corpus fury fracas. Take your seat, says the judge. 
I struggled on for about ten minutes an' gave it to 'im 
very heavy, an' the judge says to an officer standin' 
near, Officer, says he, put that man down. He thought 
I was tired. The officer laid hold of me and held me 
down in a chair. D'ye know the old judge never gave 
the jury a shot at the case at all. He turned right to 
the prisoner and he says, Prisoner at the bar, says he, 
I'll give you twelve years at hard labor, an' if that 
man there had shpoke another half minute, I'd have 
ordered you hung. 



HE DIDN'T WANT THE 'SCRIPTION 

He was an old man, and he had a bit of conductor's 
pasteboard stuck in his hat. He walked into the drug 
store and inquired: 

"Have you got any good whiskey?" 

"Yes, sir," replied the gentlemanly druggist. 

"Gimme half a pint." 

"Have you got a doctor's prescription?" 

"No." 



40 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

"Can't sell it then, sir. Jury in session; must be 
strict." 

"Where can I get a doctor?" sadly inquired the aged 
inebriate. 

"I'm a physician, sir," winningly responded the 
druggist. 

"Can't you give me that — what you call it, 'scrip- 
tion?" 

"Well, I might." 

And the doctor wrote out a prescription blank, call- 
ing for so many ounces of spiritus frumenti. He 
filled a snug-looking bottle with the article, pasted a 
label on it, numbered to correspond with the paper, 
and presenting the bottle to the venerable roysterer, 
remarked, in the most business-like way imaginable: 

"A dollar and a half, sir." 

"A dollar and a half!" gasped his astonished cus- 
tomer. "Ain't that pretty high, mister?" 

"It's our price — a dollar for the prescription, and 
fifty cents for the medicine." 

"Yes, well," slowly replied the wicked old duffer, as 
he slowly buttoned up the half -pint in his overcoat 
pocket; "I guess, boss, that I don't want the 'scription. 
Here's your half a dollar," and he stuck his tongue 
in one side of his mouth, winked ironically at him of 
the mortar and pestle, and walked out. 



ARTIE'S "AMEN" 

They were Methodists twain, of the ancient school, 
Who always followed the wholesome rule 
That whenever the preacher in meeting said 
Aught that was good for the heart or head, 
His hearers should pour their feelings out 
In a loud "Amen" or a godly shout. 

Three children had they, all honest boys, 
Whose youthful sorrows and youthful joys 



SELECTED READINGS 41 

They shared, as your loving parents will, 
While tending them ever through good and ill. 

One day — 'twas a bleak, cold Sabbath morn, 
When the sky was dark and the earth forlorn — 
These boys, with a caution not to roam, 
Were left by the elder folk at home. 

But scarce had they gone when the wooded frame 
Was seen by the tall stove-pipe aflame; 
And out of their reach, high, and higher, 
Rose the red coils of the serpent fire. 

With startled sight for a while they gazed, 

As the pipe grew hot and the wood-work blazed; 

Then up, though his heart beat wild with dread, 

The eldest climbed to a shelf o'erhead, 

And soon, with a sputter and hiss of steam, 

The flame died out like an angry dream. 

When the father and mother came back that day — 
They had gone to a neighboring church to pray — 
Each looked, but with half -averted eye, 
On the awful doom which had just passed by. 

And then the father began to praise 

His boys with a tender and sweet amaze. 

"Why, how did you manage, Tom, to climb 

And quench the threatening flames in time 

To save your brothers and save yourself?" 

"Well, father, I mounted the strong oak shelf 

By the help of the table standing nigh." 

"And what," quoth the father, suddenly, 

Turning to Jemmy, the next in age, 

"Did you to quiet the fiery rage?" 

"I brought the pail and the dipper too, 

And so it was that the water flew 

All over the flames, and quenched them quite." 



42 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

A mist came over the father's sight, 

A mist of pride and of righteous joy, 

As he turned at last to his youngest boy — 

A gleeful urchin scarce three years old, 

With his dimpling cheeks and his hair of gold* 

"Come, Artie, I'm sure you weren't afraid; 

Now tell me in what way you tried to aid 

This fight with the fire." "Too small am I," 

Artie replied, with a half-drawn sigh, 

"To fetch like Jemmy, and work like Tom; 

So I stood just here for a minute dumb, 

Because, papa, I was frightened some; 

But I prayed, 'Our Father;' and then — and then 

I shouted as loud as I could, 'Amen.' " 

Paul Hamilton HaynEc 



MICK'S COURTSHIP 

"Come, sit by the fire, Mick Mahoney, 
And draw up your chair by the blaze." 

"It's a foine place ye have, altogether," 
Said Mickey, takin' his aise. 

"An' it's not so bad, Misther Mahoney, 
(Pace to the soul of poor Pat!)" 

Said the widdy, fetchin' the rocker 
Nearer to where Mickey sat. 

"Wid the pig an' the nate little shanty, 
The praty-patch — sure, an' it's ripe — 

An' the purtiest widdy, be jabers!" 
Said Mickey, lighting his pipe. 

"Git out wid ye, Mickey Mahoney," 
Said the widdy, twitchin' her chair. 

"Git out, whin ye axed me to inter?" 
Cried Mick, boldly stroking her hair. 



SELECTED READINGS - 

i'Would ye lave a man sad and distressful, 

As howly Saint Peter would say: 
'Jest a pape at swate heaven I'll give ye, 

An' git out/ when he axed me to stay?" 

"Now, Mick," said the widdy, " 'tain't dacint, 
Wid the stone not yit on Pat's head." 

"Axin' pardon," said Mick, "but Pat's sinceless, 
Your smilin' would waken the dead!" 

"Oh, Mickey, don't, don't be onfeelin' ! 

Ah, whirra ! me heart is so sore !" 
"There, there, swatest Mollie, stop wailin'," 

An' Mickey wint down on the floor. 

"Come, be me own darlint, me Mollie, 

An' lave off the grievin'. Come, whist!" 

An' before the sad widdy could hinder, 
She was smilin', an' poutin', an' kissed! 

SEQUEL 

An' Mickey moved into the shanty, 
Wid the widdy, an' praties, an' pig. 

Said he: "Pace to the sowl of poor Patrick!" 
Whin he passed 'round the jug at the jig. 

Said the widdy, a tear on her lashes: 

"Ah, Mickey's the broth of a b'hy; 
While me heart is a-breakin' for Patrick 

Me body is thrillin' wid joy!" 

Marie Le Baron. 



NEWSPAPER QUESTIONS 

The editor sat in his sanctum, 

Regarding with sad, earnest eyes, 

The huge pile of "Questions" his readers 
Had sent with demand for replies. 



44 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

"Why, these," said the weary quill-driver, 

"Would fill up a moderate book; 
I'll publish the whole lot together, 

And let people see how they look!" 

"Who was it wrote that sweet ditty 

Beginning 'I saw from somewhere'?" 
"Pray tell me some certain specific 

For changing the color of hair?" 
"What is the name of the author 

Of 'No> we'll never go home'?" 
"Did Shakespeare write 'Down in a Coal-Mine' ? J 

"Who was the third pope of Rome?" 

"Do North Polar fishes have feathers?" 

"Was Wat Tyler quartered or hung?" 
"Where was the first man cremated?" 

"Who was it invented the bung?" 
"Do buffaloes ever eat sauer kraut?" 

"Where can I get some snails' horns?" 
"Which of the Muses played short-stop?" 

"Did Bonaparte ever have corns?" 

"What was the air Nero fiddled?" 

"Do hard-shell clams ever yield pearls ?" 
"How many biles did poor Job have?" 

"What will cure squinting in girls?" 
"Why are some people red-headed?" 

"Why don't my young man propose?" 
"What was the matter with Hannah?" 

"Why don't I turn out my toes?" 

"Did the Prodigal Son use tobacco?" 

"What do you think ails my cat?" 
"Had Nebuchadnezzar four stomachs?" 

"How shall I trim my new hat?" 
"Tell me where Moses was buried?" 

"Did Noah take fleas in the Ark?" 
"What was Eve's middle initial?" 

"Why is it that hens do not bark?" 



SELECTED READINGS 45 

"I like," said the editor, smiling — 

"I like these people who seek 
For knowledge, and I like to give it; 

I'll answer their questions next week; 
I'd like, too, to get them together; 

They'd think immortality leaked; 
I'd answer their questions as promised, ( 

Tho' most folks would call it necks tweaked. 



BROTHER GARDNER'S DIFFICULTY 

How wicked we are when we sot down and fink it 
ober. While I keep tryin' to believe in heaben, I keep 
wonderin' how any of us will eber git dar. We must 
not envy, an' yit we do envy. We mus' not b'ar false 
witness, an' yit we am foreber stretchin' de truf. We 
mus' not lie, an' yet it comes so handy dat we can't 
help it. We mus' not steal, an' — an' some of us don't. 
Dat is, we doan' git inter a posishun to handle de 
funds. We mus' not be jealous, an' yit when de woman 
across de way, whose husband aims $6 per week, sails 
out wid fo' new bonnets a ya'r, am it human natur' for 
my ole woman to look arter her an' not wish she had 
hold of her back ha'r? We mus' not sw'ar, an* yit 
what am I to do when I strike the eand of a sidewalk 
plank wid my fut, or whack my thumb wid he ham- 
mer ? Am it to be supposed dat I will calmly sot down 
an' sing a gospel hymn? 

When we trade hosses wid a man, we cheat him. 
When a man wants to borry half a dollar of us we 
lie to him. We play keerds, dance, go to the theater 
an' circus, an' we doan' turn our backs on a dog fight. 
I tell you we am all poo' weak human bein's, an' eben 
while we flatter ourselves dat we am slidin' 'long 
tor'ds heaben at de rate of a mile a minute, we am 
already to pass a lead nickel on a street' kyar com- 
pany, or pocket de five-dollah bill foun' in de Post- 
office. When I sot down at night an' pull off my 



46 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

butes an' put my feet in de oven an* get to thinkin' of 
how hard I try to be good, an' how pow'ful easy it is 
to be bad, I become so absorbed in my thoughts dot de 
ole woman has to hit me on de ear wid a 'tater to 
bring me back to airth an* start me out arter an arm- 
ful of wood. Gemlen, let us continer to try to be 
angels, but let us count on wrestlin' wid Satan about 
fo'ty times a day, an' on bein' frown flat on our backs 
ebry blessed time. 

Detroit Free Press. 



ON A RICH MAN'S TABLE 

There sat two glasses filled to the brim 

On a rich man's table, rim to rim. 

One was ruddy, and red as blood, 

And one was clear as the crystal flood. 

Said the glass of wine to the paler brother, 

"Let us tell the tales of the past to each other. 

I can tell of banquet and revel and mirth, 

And the proudest and grandest souls on earth 

Fell under my touch as though struck by blight, 

Where I was king, for I ruled in might. 

From the heads of kings I have torn the crown, 

From the height of fame I have hurled men down; 

I have blasted many an honored name, 

I have taken virtue and given shame; 

I have tempted the youth with a sip, a taste, 

That has made his future a barren waste. 

Far greater than any king am I, 

Or than any army beneath the sky; 

I have made the arm of the driver fail, 

And sent the train from the iron rail; 

I have made good ships go down at sea, 

And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me; 

For they said: 'Behold, how great you be! 

Fame, strength, wealth, genius before you fall, 

And your might and power are over all.' 



SELECTED READINGS 47 

Ho ! ho ! pale brother/' laughed the wine, 

"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?" 

Said the water glass: "I cannot boast 

Of a king dethroned or a murdered host; 

But I can tell of a heart once sad 

By my crystal drops made light and glad; 

Of thirst I've quenched and brows I've laved; 

Of hands I have cooled and souls I have saved; 

I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the 

mountain, 
I flowed in the river and played in the fountain, 
Slept in the sunshine and dropt from the sky, 
And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye. 
I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain, 
I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with 

grain; 
I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill, 
That ground out the flour, and turned at my will; 
I can tell of manhood debased by you, 
That I have lifted and crowned anew. 
I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid; 
I gladden the heart of man and maid; 
I set the chained wine-captive free, 
And all are better for knowing me." 
These are the tales they told each other, 
The glass of wine and paler brother, 
As they sat together filled to the brim, 
On the rich man's table, rim to rim. 



THE STORY OF THE BAD LITTLE BOY 

Once there was a bad little boy whose name was 
Jim; though, if you will notice, you will find that bad 
little boys are nearly always called James, in your 
Sunday-school books. It was very strange, but still it 
was true, that this one was called Jim. 

He didn't have any sick mother, either — a sick 
mother who was pious, and had the consumption, and 



48 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

would be glad to lie down in the grave and be at rest, 
but for the strong love she bore her boy, and the 
anxiety she felt that the world would be harsh and 
cold toward him when she was gone. Most bad boys 
in the Sunday-school books are named James, and 
have sick mothers who teach them to say, "Now I lay 
me down," etc., and sing them to sleep with sweet, 
plaintive voices, and then kiss them good-night, and 
kneel down by the bedside and weep. But it was 
different with this fellow. He was named Jim; and 
there wasn't anything the matter with his mother — 
no consumption, or anything of that kind. She was 
rather stout than otherwise; and she was not pious; 
moreover a she was not anxious on Jim's account. She 
said if he were to break his neck, it wouldn't be much 
loss. She always spanked Jim to sleep; and she never 
kissed him good-night; on the contrary, she boxed his 
ears when she was ready to leave him. 

Once this bad boy stole the key of the pantry, and 
slipped in there, and helped himself to some jam, and 
filled up the vessel with tar, so that his mother would 
never know the difference; all at once a terrible feel- 
ing didn't come over him, and something didn't seem 
to whisper to him, "Is it right to disobey my mother? 
Isn't it sinful to do this? Where do bad little boys 
go who gobble up their good, kind mother's jam?" 
and then he didn't kneel down all alone and promise 
never to be wicked any more, and rise up with a light 
happy heart, and go and tell his mother all about it, 
and beg her forgiveness, and be blessed by her with 
tears of pride and thankfulness in her eyes. No; that 
is the way with all other bad boys in the books; but it 
happened otherwise with this Jim, strangely enough. 
He ate that jam, and said it was bully, in his sinful, 
vulgar way; and he put in the tar, and said that was 
bully also, and laughed, and observed that "the old 
woman would get up and snort" when she found it 
out; and when she did find it out, he denied knowing 
anything about it; and she whipped him severely; and 



SELECTED READINGS 49 

he did the crying himself. Everything about this 
boy was curious; everything turned out differently 
with him from the way it does to the bad Jameses in 
the books. 

Once he climbed up in Farmer Acorn's apple-tree to 
steal apples; and the limb didn't break; and he didn't 
fall and break his arm, and get torn by the farmer's 
great dog, and then languish on a sick-bed for weeks, 
and repent and become good. Oh, no ! he stole as 
many apples as he wanted, and came down all right ; 
and he was all ready for the dog, too, and knocked 
him endways with a rock when he came to tear him. 
It was very strange; nothing like it ever happened in 
those mild little books with marbled backs, and with 
pictures in them of men with swallow-tailed coats, and 
bell-crowned hats, and pantaloons that are short in the 
legs; and women with the waists of their dresses under 
their arms, and no hoops on — nothing like it in any of 
the Sunday-school books. 

Once he stole the teacher's penknife; and when he 
was afraid he would be found out, and he would get 
whipped, he slipped it into George Wilson's cap — 
poor widow Wilson's son, the moral boy, the good little 
boy of the village, who always obeyed his mother, and 
never told an untruth, and was fond of his lessons and 
infatuated with Sunday-school. And when the knife 
dropped from the cap, and poor George hung his head 
and blushed as if in conscious guilt, and the grieved 
teacher charged the theft upon him, and was just in 
the very act of bringing the switch down upon his 
trembling shoulders, a white-haired improbable justice 
of the peace did not suddenly appear in their midst, 
and strike an attitude, and say, "Spare this nobh boy; 
there stands the cowering culprit. I was passirj y the 
school-door at recess, and, unseen myself, I sa^ 7 the 
theft committed." And then Jim didn't get whaled; 
and the venerable justice didn't read the tearful school 
a homily, and take George by the hand, and say such 
a boy deserved to be exalted, and then tell him to come 



50 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

and make his home with him, and sweep out the office, 
and make fires, and run errands, and chop wood, and 
study law, and help his wife to do household labors, 
and have all the balance of the time to play, and get 
forty cents a month, and be happy. No; it would 
have happened that way in the books; but it didn't 
happen that way to Jim. No meddling old clam of a 
justice dropped in to make trouble, and so the model 
boy George got thrashed; and Jim was glad of it, 
because, you know, Jim hated moral boys. Jim said he 
was "down on them milksops." Such was the coarse 
language of this bad, neglected boy. 

But the strangest things that ever happened to Jim 
was the time he went boating on Sunday and didn't get 
drowned, and that other time that he got caught out in 
the storm when he was fishing on Sunday, and didn't 
get struck by lightning. Why, you might look and 
look and look through the Sunday-school books from 
now till next Christmas, and you would never come 
across anything like this. Oh, no! you would find that 
all the bad boys who go boating on Sunday invariably 
get drowned; and all the bad boys who get caught out 
in storms when they are fishing on Sunday infallibly 
get struck by lightning. Boats with bad boys in them 
always upset on Sunday; and it always storms when 
bad boys go fishing on the Sabbath. How this Jim 
ever escaped is a mystery to me. 

This Jim bore a charmed life; that must have been 
the way of it. Nothing could hurt him. He even 
gave the elephant in the menagerie a plug of tobacco; 
and the elephant didn't knock the top of his head off 
with his trunk. He browsed around the cupboard 
after essence of peppermint, and didn't make a mis- 
take and drink aqua-fortis. He stole his father's gun, 
and went hunting on the Sabbath, and didn't shoot 
three or four of his fingers off. He struck his little 
sister on the temple with his fist when he was angry; 
and she didn't linger in pain through long summer 
days, and die with sweet words of forgiveness upon 



SELECTED READINGS 51 

her lips that redoubled the anguish of his breaking 
heart. No; she got over it. He ran off and went to 
sea at last, and didn't come back and find himself sad 
and alone in the world, his loved ones sleeping in the 
quiet churchyard, and the vine-embowered home of his 
boyhood tumbled down and gone to decay. Ah, no! 
he came home drunk as a piper, and got into the sta- 
tion-house the first thing. 

And he grew up, and married, and raised a large 
family, and brained them all with an axe one night, 
and got wealthy by all manner of cheating and ras- 
cality; and now he is the infernalest wickedest 
scoundrel in his native village, and is universally re- 
spected, and belongs to the legislature. 

So you see there never was a bad James in the Sun- 
day-school books that had such a streak of luck as this 
sinful Jim with the charmed life. 

Mark Twain. 



OUR CHOIR 

There's Jane Sophia, 
And Ann Maria, 
With Obadiah 
And Zedekiah 
In our choir. 

And Jane Sophia soprano sings 

So high you'd think her voice had wings 

To soar above all earthly things 

When she leads off on Sunday. 
While Ann Maria's alto choice 
Rings out in such harmonious voice, 
That sinners in the church rejoice 

And wish she'd sing till Mondays 



Then Obadiah's tenor high 

Is unsurpassed beneath the sky: 



52 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Just hear him sing "Sweet by-and-by," 

And you will sit in wonder; 
While Zedekiah's bass profound 
x Goes down so low it jars the ground 
And wakes the echoes miles around, 
Like distant rolling thunder. 

Talk not to us of Patti's fame, 

Or Nicolini's tenor tame, 

Or Cary's contralto — but a name — 

Or Whitney's pond'rous basso! 
They sing no more like Jane Sophia, 
And Ann Maria, Obadiah, 
And Zedekiah in our choir, 

Then cats sing like Tomasso! 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

How did it happen? you want to know? 

Well, old boy, I can hardly tell. 
Off we went o'er the frozen snow; t 

Merrily jingled each silvery bell. 
I was awkward and she was shy. 

Jove ! what a ride we had that night ! 
Trees and houses a-flying by, 

Her cheeks a-glow and her eyes a-light. 

What did I say? I said 'twas cold; 

Tucked the robes round her dainty feet, 
While her hair, in the starlight, shone like gold 

And her laughter echoed so clear and sweet. 
And then we drove around the mill, 

Across the river, above the glen, 
Where the brooklet's voice was hushed and still 

And I said — that it looked like frost again. 

And somehow I held her hands in mine — 
Only to keep them warm, you know — 



SELECTED READINGS 53 

While brighter the starlight seemed to shine, 
And diamonds sparkled upon the snow; 

And — well, old boy, so it happened then 
I won my love while the night grew old. 

What do you say? Did it freeze again? 
Maybe; but we didn't feel the cold. 



THE LECTURE 

) 

She spoke of the Rights of Woman, 

In words that glowed and burned ; 
She spoke of the worm down-trodden 

And said that the worm had turned! 
She proved by columns of figures 

That whatever a man essayed, 
A woman could do far better — 

In politics, art, or trade. 

She painted in fervid colors 

The bright millennial day 
When Man should bow submissive 

Neath woman's wiser sway. 
She said — but her words were frozen — 

Her eyes were wide with fear — 
She mounted the chair, the table — 

Then faintly gasped: "He's here!" 

Curiosity — excitement — 

Dread — overwhelmed the house! 
We were rising for her rescue 

When — we saw a tiny mouse. 
He scurried over the platform, 

And swiftly the monster ran, 
Yet he was killed in a moment 

By that Paltry Thing, a man! 

Then what sympathetic murmurs 
Rose quivering on the air ! 



54 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

And smelling-salts were proffered 

To the heroine in the chair. 
Lastly, one resolution 

Was read, and passed in a trice; 
"Resolved — though Men are so useless, 

They're needed for killing mice." 

E. T. Corbett. 



WOMAN'S RIGHTS, BY MISS TABITHA PRIM- 
ROSE 

My hearers — male and female — Squenchin' my 
native modesty, which is nateral to all uv the weaker 
vessels uv whom I am which, I feel impelled to speak 
to yoo this evenin' on the subjeck uv woman — her 
origin, her mission, her destiny — a subjeck, bein' ez I 
am a woman myself, I hev given much attention to. 

Man, my hearers, claims to be the sooperior uv 
woman! Is it so? and ef so, in what, and how much? 
Wuz he the fust creation? He wuz, my hearers; but 
what does that prove? Man wuz made fust, but the 
experience gained in makin' man wuz applied to the 
makin uv a betterer and more finerer bein', uv whom 
I am a sample. Nacher made man, but saw in a breef 
space uv time that he coodent take care uv hisself 
alone, and so he made a woman to take care uv him, 
and that's why we wuz created, though seem* all the 
trouble we hev I don't doubt that it would hev been 
money in our pocket ef we hedn't been made at all. 

Imagine, my antiquated sisters, Adam afore Eve 
wuz made! Who sewed on his shirt buttons? Who 
cooked his beefsteak? Who made his coffee in the 
mornin', and did his washin'? He wuz mizable, he 
wuz — he must hev boarded out and eat hash! But 
when Eve come the scene changed. Her gentle hand 
soothed his akin brow when he come in from a hard 
day's work. She hed his house in order. She hed 



SELECTED READINGS 55 

his slippers and dressin'-gown ready, and after tea 
he smoked his meerschaum in peace. 

Men, cruel, hard, hard-hearted men, assert that Eve 
wuz the cause uv his expulsion from Eden — that she 
plucked the apple and give him half. Oh, my sisters, it's 
true! it's too true, but what uv it? It proves, fustly, 
her goodness. Hed Adam plucked the apple, ef it 
hed bin a good one, he'd never thought uv his wife at 
home, but would hev gobbled it all. Eve, angel that 
we all are, thought uv him, and went havers with him. 
Secondly, it wuz the means uv good, anyhow. It in- 
trodoost death into the world, which separated 'em 
while they still hed love for each other. I appeal to 
the sterner sex present to-night. Would you, oh 
would you desire for immortality, onless indeed, you 
lived in Injeany, where you could git divorces and 
change your names wunst in 10 or 15 years? S'pos'n 
all uv you hed bin fortunate enough to win sich virgin 
souls ez me, could you endure charms like mine for a 
eternity? Methinks not. I know that ef I hed a 
husband he would bless Eve for interdoosin' death into 
the world. 

I progress. Woman, then, is man's ekal, but is she 
okkepyin her proper speer? Alas not! we are de- 
prived uv the ballot, and ain't allowed to make stump 
speeches or take part in pollitix. Is it right? True 
we ain't ez yit learned in these matters, but what uv 
that? How many men vote who know what they'r 
votin' for, and how many stump speakers know what 
they'r talkin' about ? I demand the ballot. I want to 
be a torch-light procession. I want to sit in Congris. 
among the other old grannies. I want to demonstrate 
my fitness for governin' by comin' home elevated on 
'leckshun nights. I want to assoom that speer which 
Nacher fitted me for ekally with man, but from which 
maskeline jealousy hez thus far excluded me. Don't 
say we're weak and frivolus! Weak! why I wunst 
know'd a female friend uv mine who had strength 
reglerly to carry her husband, who weighed 200 pounds 



56 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

averdupois, into the house every night, after he was 
lifted off from a dray onto which his friends which 
could stand more fluids than he could hed deposited 
him. Many a time I've seed her lift that barrel uv 
whiskey with a man outside uv it. 

Ez I heard some wicked boys who wuz a playin 
cards say, I pass. 

Matrimony, thus far in the world's history, hez bin 
our only destiny. I am glad I hed alius strength uv 
mind enough to resist all propositions lookin' to my 
enslavement. I hed too much respeck for myself to 
make myself the slave uv a man. Wunst, indeed, I 
might hev done so, but the merest accident in the world 
saved me. A young man, in my younger days, when 
the bloom wuz on the peach, ere sleepless nights spent 
in meditatin' the wrongs uv my sex had worn furrows 
into these wunst blushin cheeks, a young man come to 
our house and conversed sweetly with me. It wuz 
my fust beau; and oh, my sisters, hed he that night 
asked me to be his'n I should hev bin weak enough to 
hev said yes, and I would hev bin a washer uv dishes 
and a mender uv stockins for life. But fate saved me. 
HE DIDN'T ASK ME— that night nor never after- 
wards — and, hallelujy! I'm free! 

Again. I demand the right uv standin up in the 
cars the same as men, instead of havin' a dozen uv 'em 
start up when I enter coz I'm a woman! Why should 
they? Wuz these limbs given me by Nacher, for 
what? I resent with skor-r-r-n the implied insult. 
I hev seen bearded men stand up to let a little chit uv 
18 (O, my sisters, ef there is a provokin' objick in 
this world it's a smooth-faced girl uv 18; they know 
so little of life and let on they know so much,) set 
down, when the night afore that same girl hed waltzed 
20 miles, and ef she hadn't tired all her partners out, 
could hev waltzed 20 more. I'm disgusted with sich. 

There hev bin women in the world who hev done 
suthin. There wuz the queen uv Sheba, who wuz egg- 
selled only by Solomon, and all that surprized her in 



SELECTED READINGS 57 

him wuz that he could support 3,000 women. Bless 
Solomon's heart, I'd like to see him do it now ! Where 
could he find a house big enough to hold 'em? He'd 
hev to put a wing on each side of the temple, and put 
another story on top uv it. And there wuz Joan of 
Arc, who walloped the English, who wuz maid uv 
Orleans, which wuzn't the same as Noah's Ark, for 
that wuz made of gopher wood, besides the latter was 
pitched without and pitched within. There wuz 
Queen Elizabeth, who wuz the Virgin Queen, and — 
but I propel. 

How shall we gain our lost rights, and assume that 
position in the world to which we are entitled to? O, 
my sisters, these is a question upon which I have 
cogitated long and vigorously. We might do it by 
pisenin' all the men, but we would be robbed uv one- 
half uv our triumph, for they wouldn't be alive to see 
how well we did things without 'em ; and besides, who'd 
pay our bills, and then what would become uv the next 
generation? We might resolve to do no more uv the 
degradin' work they hev imposed onto us, but if we 
didn't who would? One week's eatin' what they would 
cook would sicken a well-regulated woman; and be- 
sides, they might not let us eat at all. We can't be 
nothin' else but women, but let us be women in a 
grand style. Let's refuse to kiss 'em or be kissed by 
'em till they come to terms; let's preserve a keerful 
coldness toward 'em till they acknowledge our ekality. 
This I have practiced for years. I allow no young 
man to throw his arms around my waist, and pressin' 
me to his buzzum, imprint upon my virgin lips the im- 
passioned kiss uv love. Ef one should attempt it this 
minute, I should exclaim, "My civil rights fust, the 
marriage rights afterward !" Try it, young sisters ! 
and ef that don't fetch 'em to terms, write me post- 
paid, and I'll send suthin' that will. 



58 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 



ST. PATRICK'S MARTYRS 

I wonder what the mischief was in her, for the mis- 
tress was niver contrairy, 

But this same is just what she said to me, just as sure 
as my name is Mary; 

"Mary/' isays she, all a-smiling and swate like, "the 
young ladies are coming from France, 

And we'll give them a welcome next Monday, with an 
elegant supper and dance." 

"Is it Monday, ye're maning?" says I; "ma'am, why, 
thin, I'm sorry to stand in yer way, 

But it's little of work I'll do Monday, seeing that Mon- 
day's St. Patrick's Day; 

And sure it's meself that promised to go wid Cousin 
Kitty Malone's brother Dan, 

And bad luck to Mary Magee," says I, "if she disap- 
points such a swate young man!" 

"Me children have been away four years" — and she 

spoke in a very unfeelin' way — 
"Ye cannot expect P shall disappoint them either for 

you or St. Patrick's Day; 
I know nothing about St. Patrick." "That's true for 

ye, ma'am, more's the pity," says I, 
"For it's niver the likes of ye has the luck to be born 

under the Irish sky." 

Ye see I was getting past jokin' — and she sitting there 
so aisy and proud, 

And me thinking of the Third Avenue, and the proces- 
sion and music and crowd; 

And it crossed me mind that minit consarning Thady 
Mulligan's supper and dance, 

Says I, "It's not Mary Magee, ma'am, that can stay 
for ladies coming from France." 



SELECTED READINGS 59 

"Mary," says she, "two afternoons each week — ivery 

Wednesday and ivery Monday — 
Ye've always had, besides ivery early Mass, and yer 

Vespers ivery other Sunday, 
And yer friends hev visited at me house, two or three 

of them ivery night." 
"Indade thin," says I, "that was nothin' at all but 

ivery dacent girl's right!" 

"Very well, thin," says she, "ye can lave the house, 

and be sure to take wid ye yer 'right;' 
And if Michael and Norah think just as ye do, ye can 

all of ye lave to-night." 
So just for St. Patrick's glory we wint; and, as sure 

as Mary Magee is me name, 
It's a house full of nagurs she's got now, which the 

same is a sin and a shame. 

Bad luck to them all! A body, I think, had need of 
a comfortable glass; 

It's a miserable time in Ameriky for a dacent Irish- 
born lass, 

If she sarves the saints, and is kind to her friends, then 
she loses her home and her pay, 

And there's thousands of innocent martyrs like me on 
ivery St. Patrick's Day. 



NOTHING AT ALL IN THE PAPER TO-DAY 

Nothing at all in the paper to-day! 

Only a murder somewhere or other, — 
A girl who has put her child away, 

Not being a wife as well as a mother. 
Or a drunken husband beating a wife, 

With the neighbors lying awake to listen; 
Scarce aware he has taken a life 

Till in at the window the dawn-rays glisten. 



60 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

But that is all in the regular way— 
There's nothing at all in the paper to-day. 

Nothing at all in the paper to-day! 

To be sure there's a woman died of starvation, 
Fell down in the street — as so many may 

In this very prosperous Christian nation. 
Or two young girls, with some inward grief 

Maddened, have plunged in the inky waters, 
Or a father has learnt that his son's a thief, 

Or a mother been robbed of one of her daughters, 
Things that occur in the regular way — 
There's nothing at all in the paper to-day. 

There's nothing at all in the paper to-day, 

Unless you care about things in the city — 
How great rich rogues for their crimes must pay 

(Though all gentility cries out "Pity!"), 
Like the meanest shop-boy that robs a till. 

There's a case to-day, if I'm not forgetting, 
The lad only "borrowed" as such lads will — 

To pay some money he lost in betting. 
But there's nothing in this that's out of the way — 
There's nothing at all in the paper to-day. 

Nothing at all in the paper to-day 

But the births and bankruptcies, deaths and mar- 
riages, 
But life's events in the old survey, 

With Virtue begging, and Vice in carriages ; 
And kindly hearts under ermine gowns, 

And wicked breasts under hodden gray, — 
For goodness belongs not only to clowns, 

And o'er others than lords does sin bear sway. 
But what do I read? — "Drowned! wrecked!" Did I 

say 
There was nothing at all in the paper to-day? 



SELECTED READINGS 61 



A DEFENSE OF XANTIPPE 

Xantippe, I know, was a terrible scold, 
But only one half of that story's been told; 
For Xan had to worry and cut and contrive, 
To keep half-a-dozen young "Soccies" alive, 
While their slouchy old father, — the wise Socrates, 
Penniless, hatless, and bare to the knees, — 
In a greasy old toga, paraded the pave, 
Delighted all Athens with wise saws and grave; 
But all the wise maxims which Socrates said 
Ne'er earned for the youngsters a morsel of bread; 
With never a shoe for herself or the boys, 
What wonder the Madam was given to noise? 

He dearly loved Athens, — her forum and "walk" 

And the cavalier crowd that applauded his talk, — 

Was attached to her soil, and on face, neck and limb 

The soil was quite largely attached to him. 

For her, in the forum, the workshop, or gate, 

At morning, at noon, or at midnight he'd prate. 

He talked of the beautiful, — goodness knows why, — 

Of inflati divini from out the blue sky; 

But in spite of his wit Xantippe ne'er went 

Through the old fellow's clothing and fished up a cent ! 

She worked like a slave, but he sat at his ease 

While "chinning" with Crito or Euripides! 

The stewpan was broken, and nothing to stew; 
Each chair had the rickets, — the table askew, 
The bed for the group, a Sicilian plank, 
And still he kept "chinning," — the logical "crank !" 

Now, Socrates held that a man was well fed, 

Whose menu consisted of water and bread; 

But the bread? For you see, what made Xantippe 

fuss, 
He ne'er earned his youngsters the first obolus. 



62 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

He'd "chin" it all day, — but work? Not a bit! 
(His speeches were marvels of beauty and wit) 
No wonder she stormed ! No wonder she railed, 
And went for him there with her mop till he paled! 
She doused his old toga with dish-water foul, 
And keyed up her voice till it reached a wild howl! 
No wonder she turned out a bit of a shrew ! — 
I think the old lady had reason; don't you? 



HER IDEAL 

She wanted to reach an ideal; 

She talked of the lovely in art, 
She quoted from Emerson's essays, 

And said she thought Howells had "heart/ 
She doted on Wagner's productions, 

She thought comic opera low, 
And she played trying tunes on a zither, 

Keeping time with a sandal-shod toe. 

She had dreams of a nobler existence, — 

A bifurcated, corsetless place, 
Where women would stand free and equal 

As queens of a glorious race. 
But her biscuits were deadly creations 

That caused people's spirits to sink; 
And she'd views upon matters religious 

That drove her relations to drink. 

She'd opinions on co-education, 

But not an idea on cake; 
She could analyze Spencer or Browning, 

But the new kitchen range wouldn't bake. 
She wanted to be esoteric, 

And she wore the most classical clothes *, 
But she ended by being hysteric 

And contracting a cold in the nose. 



SELECTED READINGS 63 

She studied of forces hypnotic, 

She believed in theosophy quite; 
She understood themes prehistoric, 

And said that the faith cure was right. 
She wanted to reach an ideal, 

And at clods unpoetic would rail — 
Her husband wore fringe on his trousers 

And fastened them on with a nail! 

Kate Masterson. 



WHAT MEN HAVE NOT FOUGHT FOR 

My dear boy, men have fought, bled, and died, but not 
for beer. Arnold Winkelried did not throw himself 
upon the Austrian spears because he was ordered to 
close his saloon at nine o'clock. William Tell did 
not hide his arrow under his vest to kill the tyrant 
because the edict had gone forth that the free-born 
Switzer should not drink a keg of beer every Sunday. 
Freedom did not shriek as Kosciusko fell over a whis- 
key barrel. Warren did not die that beer might flow 
as the brooks murmur, seven days a week. Even 
the battle of Brandywine was not fought that whiskey 
might be free. No clause in the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence declares that a Sunday concert garden, with 
five brass horns and one hundred kegs of beer is the 
inalienable right of a free people and the corner stone 
of good government. 

Tea, — mild, harmless, innocent tea; the much- 
sneered-at temperance beverage, the feeble drink of 
effeminate men and good old women, — tea holds a 
higher place, it fills a brighter, more glorious page, 
and is a grander figure in the history of this United 
States, than beer. Men liked tea, my boy, but they 
hurled it into the sea in the name of liberty, and they 
died rather than drink it until they made it free. 
It seems to be worth fighting for, and the best men 
in the world fought for it. The history of the United 



64 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

States is incomplete with tea left out. As well might 
the historian omit Faneuil Hall and Bunker Hill, as tea. 
But there is no story of heroism or patriotism with 
rum for its hero. 

The battles of this world, my son, have been fought 
for grander things than free whiskey. The heroes 
who fall in the struggle for rum, fall shot in the neck, 
and their martyrdom is clouded by the haunting phan- 
toms of the jim-jams. Whiskey makes men fight, it is 
true, but they usually fight other drunken men. The 
champion of beer does not stand in the temple of fame ; 
he stands in the police court. Honor never has the 
delirium tremens, glory does not wear a red nose, and 
fame blows a horn, but never takes one. 

R. J. BlJRDETTE. 



FASHIONABLE 

A fashionable woman 

In a fashionable pew; 
A fashionable bonnet 

Of a fashionable hue; 
A fashionable mantle 

And a fashionable gown; 
A fashionable Christian 

In a fashionable town; 
A fashionable prayer-book 

And a fashionable choir; 
A fashionable chapel 

With a fashionable spire; 
A fashionable preacher 

With a fashionable speech; 
A fashionable sermon 

With a fashionable reach; 
A fashionable welcome 

At the fashionable door; 
A fashionable penny 

For the fashionable poor? 



SELECTED READINGS 65 

A fashionable heaven 

And a fashionable hell; 
A fashionable Bible 

For this fashionable belle; 
A fashionable kneeling 

And a fashionable nod; 
A fashionable everything, 

But no fashionable God. 

Merchant Traveler. 



NO PLACE FOR BOYS 

What can a boy do and where can a boy stay, 

If he is always told to get out of the way? 

He cannot sit here and he must not stand there, 

The cushions that cover that fine rocking chair 

Were put there of course to be seen and admired ; 

A boy has no business to ever be tired. 

The beautiful roses and flowers that bloom 

On the floor of the darkened and delicate room 

Are not made to walk on — at least, not by boys; 

The house is no place, anyway, for their noise. 

Yet boys must walk somewhere; and what if their 

feet, 
Sent out of our houses, sent into the street, 
Should step round the corner and pause at the door, 
Where other boys' feet have paused often before; 
Should pass through the gateway of glittering light, 
Where jokes that are merry and songs that are bright 
Ring out a warm welcome with flattering voice, 
And temptingly say: "Here's a place for the boys." 
Ah, what if they should? What if your boy or mine 
Should cross o'er the threshold which marks out the 

line 
'Twixt virtue and vice, 'twixt pureness and sin, 
And leave all his innocent boyhood within? 
Oh, what if they should, because you and I, 
While the days and the months and the years hurry by, 



66 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Are too busy with cares and with life's fleeting joys 
To make round our hearthstone a place for the boys? 
There's a place for the boys. They will find it some- 
where ; 
And if our own homes are too daintily fair 
For the touch of their fingers, the tread of their feet, 
They'll find it, and find it, alas, in the street. 
'Mid the gildings of sin and the glitter of vice; 
And with heartaches and longings we pay a dear price 
For the getting of gain that our lifetime employs, 
If we fail to provide a place for the boys. 

A place for the boys, dear mother, I pray. 

As cares settle down round our short earthly way, 

Don't let us forget by our kind, loving deeds, 

To show we remember their pleasures and needs ; 

Though our souls may be vexed with the problems 

of life, 
And worn with besetments, and toiling and strife, 
Our hearts will keep younger — your tired heart and 

mine — 
If we give them a place in their innermost shrine; 
And to our life's latest hour 'twill be one of our joys 
That we kept a small corner— a place for the boys. 



WOMAN'S CAREER 

She was a fair girl graduate, enrobed in spotless 

white, 
And on her youthful features shone a look of holy 

light. 
She bent with grace her dainty head to receive the 

ribbon blue 
Whence hung the silver medal adjudged to be her 

due. 
I watched her face with rapture as she raised to 

heaven her eyes 



SELECTED READINGS 67 

And moved her lips in prayer as her fingers clasped 

the prize; 
For I knew to education she had pledged her coming 

days, 
To unclasp poor woman's fetters and free her from 

man's ways. 

Time passed, our pathways parted; but ever and 

anon 
My thoughts would stray toward her and I'd specu- 
late upon 
What my graduate was doing — if athwart the scroll 

of fame, 
Among unselfish workers, had been written high her 

name. 
At last I chanced to meet her, but her books were 

pushed aside, 
While around a dainty garment she sewed the lace 

with pride; 
And at her feet her baby — dimpled, happy, crowing 

youth — 
Upon that silver medal was cutting his first tooth. 

LlFEo 



A CONTRAST 

At her easel, brush in hand, 

Clad in silk attire, 
Painting "sunsets" vague and grand, 

(Clumsy clouds of fire!) — 
Flaxen hair in shining sheaves; 

Pink and pearly skin; 
Fingers, which, like lily-leaves, 

Neither toil nor spin; 
At her belt a sunflower bound, 

Daisies on the table, 
Plaques and panels all around— 

That's aesthetic Mabel! 



68 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

In the kitchen, fork in hand, 

Clad in coarse attire, 
Dishing oysters, fried and panned, 

From a blazing fire; 
Dusty hair in frowsy knots ; 

Worn and withered skin; 
Fingers, brown and hard as nuts 

When the frosts begin; 
Baking-board, one side, aground; 

Wash tub on the other; 
Pots and skillets all around — 

That is Mabel's mother ! 

Eleanor C. Donnelly. 



THE FRONT GATE 

An old and crippled gate am I, 
And twenty years have passed 

Since I was swung up high and dry 
Betwixt these pos^s so fast; 

But now I've grown so powerful weak- 
Despised by man and beast — 

I'm scarcely strong enough to squeak, 
Although I'm never greased. 

'Twas twenty years ago, I say, 

When Mr. Enos White 
Came kinder hanging 'round my way 

Most every other night. 
He hung upon my starboard side 

And she upon the tother, 
Till Susan Smith became his bride > 

And in due time a mother. 

I groaned intensely when I heard — 

Despite I am no churl — 
My doom breathed in a single word: 

The baby was a girl! 



SELECTED READINGS 69 

And as she grew and grew and grew* 

I loud bemoaned my fate; 
For she was very fair to view, 

And I — I was the gate. 

Then in due time, a lover came, 

Betokening my ruin, 
A dapper fellow, Brown by name, 

The grown up baby wooin' ! 
They sprang upon me in the gloam, 

And talked of moon and stars; 
They are married now and live at home 

Along with ma and pa. 

My lot was happy for a year, 

No courting night or day — 
I had no thought, I had no fear 

Bad luck would come my way. 
But oh! this morning, save the mark! 

There came a wild surprise, 
A shadow flitted grim and dark 

Across my sunny skies. 

A doctor with a knowing smile, 

A nurse with face serene, 
A bustle in the home the while, 

Great Scott! what can it mean? 
My hinges ache; my lock is weak, 

My pickets in a whirl; 
I hear that awful doctor speak; 

It is another girl! 



ST. PETER'S POLITENESS 

As Peter sat at heaven's gate 
A maiden sought permission, 

And begged of him, if not too late, 
To give her free admission. 



70 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

"What claim hast thou to enter here?" 

He cried with earnest mien; 
"Please, sir/' said she, 'twixt hope and fear, 

"I'm only just sixteen." 

"Enough!" the hoary guardian said, 
And the gate wide open threw; 

"That is the age when every maid 
Is girl and angel, too!" 

HE DIDN'T AMOUNT TO SHUCKS. 

There was Bijah, Ben an* Bart, 

Who war smart; 
Sons of old Abijah Blander — 
See his house 'way over yander, 
Whar you see that long-necked gander 

On the cart ? 
But Bill the younges' watched the ducks, 
Because he didn't amount to shucks. 

I tell ye, Bijah, Ben an' Bart 

Did their part! 
W'y, ye never see sich bustlers, 
Never see sich tarnal hustlers; 
They wuz reg'lar roarin' rustlers — 

They war smart! 
But Bill he uster loaf an' stop, 
An' loll, an' lallagag an' gawp. 

An' Bill wuz lazy, so they said, 

An' half dead; 
Never useter laugh and holler, 
Never tried to make a dollar, 
But he wuz a fust-rate scholar — 

A great head ! 
He'd take some tarnal books an' shirk, 
An' let his brothers do the work. 



SELECTED READINGS 71 

An* they sent Bill to General Court — 

Curus sport ! 
An' he with them air legislaters, 
Men, I s'pose, of sim'lar natur's, 
Who thort he wuz some pertaters, 

Held the fort. 
His speeches wuz so full er snap 
They' struck 'em like a thunder clap. 

He talked so well an' knew so much, 

Books an' such, 
Thet now he lives away up yander 
In the State House — quite a gander — 
An' folks call him Governor Blander. 

It's too much! 
The chap who useter watch the ducks 
Because he didn't amount to shucks ! 

But what uv Bijah, Ben and Bart, 

Who war smart? 
Never fear thet they'll forsake us — 
Bige an' Ben are good shoemakers. 
Bart he drives Josiah Baker's 

Butcher cart. 
An' all three brag about the ducks 
An' Bill who didn't amount to shucks. 

Sam Walter Foss. 



ENGINEERS MAKING LOVE 

Suggestive of the way in which the engineers and 
firemen salute their wives or sweethearts. 

It's noon when Thirty-five is due, 

An' she comes on time like a flash of light, 

An' you hear her whistle, "Too-tee-too !" 
Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight. 



72 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Bill Maddon's drivin' her in to-day, 
An* he's callin' his sweetheart far away, — 
Gertrude Hurd lives down by the mill; 
You might see her blushin' ; she knows it's Bill, 
"Tu-die! Toot-ee! Tu-die! Tu!" 

Six-five A. M. there's a local comes, 

Makes up at Bristol, runnin' east; 
An' the way her whistle sings an' hums 

Is a livin' caution to man an' beast. 

Every one knows who Jack White calls — 
Little Lou Woodbury, down by the Falls ; 
Summer or winter, always the same, 
She hears her lover callin' her name — 
"Lou-ie! Lou-ie! Lou-iee!" 

But at one-fifty-one, old Sixty-four — 

Boston express, runs east, clear through — 

Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar 
With the softest whistle that ever blew. 

An' away at the furthest edge of the town 
Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown 
Shine like the starlight, bright and clear, 
When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear, 
"You-ou, Su-u-u-u-e !" 

Along at midnight a freight comes in, 

Leaves Berlin sometime, — I don't know when; 

But it rumbles along with a fearful din 

Till it reaches the Y-switch there, and then 

The clearest notes of the softest bell 
That out of a brazen goblet fell 
Wake Nellie Minton out of her dreams; 
To her like a wedding-bell it seems — 
"Nell, Nell, Nell! Nell, Nell, Nell!" 



SELECTED READINGS 73 

Tom Wilson rides on the right hand side, 
Givin' her steam at every stride; 
An' he touches the whistle, low an' clear, 
For Lulu Gray, on the hill, to hear — < 
"Lu-lu! Loo loo!" 

So it goes on all day an' all night 

Till the old folks have voted the thing a bore; 
Old maids and bachelors say it ain't right 

For folks to do courtin' with such a roar. 

But the engineers their kisses will blow 
From a whistle valve to the girls they know, 
An' the stokers the names of their sweet- 
hearts tell, 
With, the Belle ! Nell ! Dell ! of the sway- 



ing bell. 



R. J. BURDETTE. 



JIM 

Say there ! P'r'aps 
Some on you chaps 
Might know Jim Wild? 

Well, — no offense: 

Thar ain't no sense 
In gittin' riled ! 

Jim was my chum 

Up on the Bar: 
That's why I come 

Down from up yar, 
Lookin' for Jim. 
Thank ye, sir! you 
Ain't of that crew, — 

Blest if you are! 



74 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Money? — Not much: 
That ain't my kind; 

I ain't no such. 

Rum? — I don't mind, 
Seem' it's you. 

Well, this yer Jim, 
Did you know him? — 
Jess 'bout your size; 
Same kind of eyes? — 
Well, that is strange; 
Why it's two year 
Since he came here, 
Sick, for a change. 

Well, here's to us; 

Eh? 
The deuce you say ! 

Dead?— 
That little cuss? 

What makes you star, 
You over thar? 
Can't a man drop 
*s glass in yer shop 
But you must rar'? 
It wouldn't take 
Derned much to break 
You and your bar. 

Dead ! 
Poor— little — Jim ! 
Why thar was me, 
Jones, and Bob Lee, 
Harry and Ben, — 
No-account men ; 
Then to take him! 



SELECTED READINGS 75 

Well, thar— Good by,— 
No more, sir, — I — 

Eh? 
What's that you say? 
Why, dern it ! — sho ! — 
No? Yes! By Jo! 

Sold! 
Sold! Why you limb, 
You ornery, 

Derned old 
Long-legged Jim! 

Bret Harte. 



THE TRIBULATIONS OF BIDDY 
MALONE 

I've answered tin advortoisements in two days, but 
niver a place I got at all, at all. The furrest quistion 
they axe me is, "Can ye cook?" And whin I say "I'll 
thry," they tell me I'll not suit. Shure a body would 
think there was nothing in the worruld to do but cook, 
cook, cook; bad luck to the cookin'. I've been in the 
country jist four weeks nixt Tchuesday, and this is 
Monday; and I've had enough of yer Yankee cookin', 
and I'll have no more of it. 

I've lost three places already with this cookin', shure. 
The furrest lady, sez she, "Can ye cook?" Sez I, 
"Shure, mum, I can that, for it's many a murphy I've 
cooked at me home beyant the sea." So I wint into the 
kitchen, an' me thrunk wint up to the attic. Sez the 
missus, afther a while, "Bridget, here's a turkey; 
shtuff it and roast it." 

Well, at two o'clock she comes into the kitchen, and 
sez she, "Bridget, how is it ye are so late wid the din- 
ner, isn't the turkey done yet?" Sez I, "I'll see, mum." 
I wint to the pot and took off the lid. "Look, mum," 
sez I. "You've burnt the fowel to paces," sez she. 
Sez I, "Shure you tould me to shtuff the burd and roast 



76 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

it; so I shtuffed it into the pot." Well, meself and 
me thrunk left that same noight. 

The nixt place I wint the lady was troubled wid 
a wakeness. Sez she, "Biddy, dear, ye'U foind a piece 
of bafe in the ref rigeratorio ; git it and make me some 
bafe tea." Well, afther huntin all over for the re- 
frigeratorio, I found the mate in a chist ferninst a 
chunk of ice. I put the mate in the tea-pot an' lit 
it dhraw fur a few minuts, an' then I took it to the 
missus, wid a cup, a saucer an' a shpoon. "Biddy, 
dear," sez she, "ye needen't moind a sendin' for your 
thrunk." So I lost that place, too. 

The nixt place was at an ould widower's house; he 
had two lazy childer; wan was twinty an' the other was 
twinty, too; they were twins, you see. Well, the 
butcher brought some oysters. Sez the lazy twins, 
"We'll have thim shtewd." Well, I did shtew thim, but 
the shpalpeens discharged me because I biled them 
like praties wid their jackets on. 

So here I am, this blessed day, a poor, lone gurl, 
saking a place at sarvice. Bad luck to the Yankee 
cookin'. Well, I'll shtop at one more place, — let 
me see; (pulls piece of newspaper from pocket.) 
Yis, here's the advortoisement. (Reads.) "Wanted, 
a gurl in a shmall family consistin' of thirteen childer 
an' two adults." Well, I'd rather do their work, even 
if it was a big family, than be bothered with shtuffed 
turkey, bafe tea, or shtewd oysters. I'll call on the 
shmall family. (Courtesies and exits.) 

George M. Vickers. 



THE BRAVEST BATTLE EVER FOUGHT 

The bravest battle that ever was fought, 
Shall I tell you where and when? 

On the maps of the world you will find it not; 
'Twas fought by the mothers of men. 



SELECTED READINGS 77 

Nay, not with cannon, or battle-shot, 

With sword, or nobler pen; 
Nay, not with eloquent word or thought 

From mouths of wonderful men. 

But deep in a walled-up woman's heart — 

Of woman that would not yield, 
But bravely, silently bore her part — 

Lo! there is that battle-field! 

No marshaling troop, no bivouac song; 

No banners to gleam and wave ! 
But oh ! these battles they last so long — 

From babyhood to the grave! 

Yet faithful still as a bridge of stars, 
She fights in her walled-up town — 

Fights on, and on in the endless wars, 
Then silent, unseen goes down! 

Oh! ye with banners and battle-shot, 

And soldier to shout and praise, 
I tell you the kingliest victories fought 

Are fought in these silent ways! 

Oh! spotless woman in a world of shame, 

With splendid and silent scorn, 
Go back to God as white as you came 

The kingliest warrior born. 

Joaquin Miller. 



THE MERCHANT AND THE BOOK-AGENT 

A book-agent importuned James Watson, a rich 
merchant living a few miles out of the city, until he 
bought a book, — the "Early Christian Martyrs." Mr, 
Watson didn't want the book, but he bought it to get 
rid of the agent; then taking it under his arm he 



78 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

started for the train, which takes him to his office in 
the city. 

Mr. Watson hadn't been gone long before Mrs. Wat- 
son came home from a neighbor's. The book-agent 
saw her, and went in and persuaded the wife to buy 
a copy of the book. She was ignorant of the fact that 
her husband had bought the same book in the morn- 
ing. When Mr. Watson came back in the evening he 
met his wife with a cheery smile as he said: "Well, my 
dear, how have you enjoyed yourself to-day? Well, I 
hope." 

"Oh, yes ! had an early caller this morning." 

"Ah, and who was she?" 

"It wasn't a 'she' at all; it was a gentleman, — a 
book-agent." 

"A what?" 

"A book-agent, and, to get rid of his importuning I 
bought his book, the 'Early Christian Martyrs,' see, 
here it is," she exclaimed, advancing towards her 
husband. 

"I don't want to see it," said Watson, frowning 
terribly. 

"Why, husband?" asked his wife. 

"Because that rascally book-agent sold me the same 
book this morning. Now we've got two copies of the 
same book — two copies of the 'Early Christian Martyrs' 
and—" 

"But husband, we can — " 

"No, we can't, either!" interrupted Mr. Watson. 
"The man is off on the train before this. Confound 
it! I could kill the fellow. I—" 

"Why, there he goes to the depot now," said Mrs. 
Watson, pointing out of the window at the retreating 
form of the book-agent making for the train. 

"But it's too late to catch him, and I'm not dressed. 
I've taken off my boots, and — " 

Just then Mr. Stevens, a neighbor of Mr. Watson, 
drove by, when Mr. Watson pounded on the window- 
pane in a frantic manner almost frightening the horse. 



SELECTED READINGS 79 

"Here, Stevens!'* he shouted, "you're hitched up! 
Won't you run your horse down to the train and hold 
that book-agent till I come ? Run ! Catch 'im now !" 

"All right/' said Mr. Stevens, whipping up his horse 
and tearing down the road. 

Mr. Stevens reached the train just as the conductor 
shouted "All aboard!" 

"Book-agent!" he yelled, as the book-agent stepped 
on the train. "Book-agent! hold on! Mr. Watson 
wants to see you." 

"Watson? Watson wants to see me?" repeated the 
seemingly puzzled book-agent. "Oh, I know what he 
wants; he wants to buy one of my books; but I can't 
miss the train to sell it to him." 

"If that is all he wants, I can pay for it and take 
it back to him. How much is it?" 

"Two dollars, for the 'Early Christian Martyrs/ " 
said the book-agent as he reached for the money and 
passed the book out the car-window. 

Just then Mr. Watson arrived, puffing and blowing, 
in his shirt sleeves. As he saw the train pull out he 
was too full for utterance. 

"Well, I got it for you," said Stevens; "just got it 
and that's all." 

"Got what?" yelled Watson. 

"Why, I got the book — 'Early Christian Martyrs/ 
and paid — " 

"By — the — great — guns !" moaned Watson, as he 
placed his hand to his brow and swooned right in the 
middle of the street. 

I 



MY NEIGHBOR 

Love your neighbor as yourself — 
Thus the Good Book readeth; 

And I glance across the way 
At my neighbor Edith, 



80 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Who, with garden-hat and gloves, 

Through the golden hours 
Of the sunny summer-morn, 

Flits among her flowers. 

Love your neighbor as yourself — 

Winsome, blue-eyed girlie, 
Golden gleams of sunny hair, 

Dimpled, pink, and pearly. 
As I lean upon the stile 

And watch her at her labor, 
How much better than myself 

Do I love my neighbor! 

Love your neighbor as yourself— 

How devout I'm growing ! 
All my heart with fervent love 

Toward my neighbor glowing. 
Ah! to keep that blest command 

Were the sweetest labor, 
For with all my heart and soul 

Do I love my neighbor! 

Lizzie Clark Hardy. 



AN ITALIAN'S VIEWS ON THE LABOR QUES- 
TION 

One man looka at da labor quest' one way, 'noder 
man looka 'noder way. I looka deesa way: 

Longa time ago I gitta born in Italia. Pret' quecck 
I gitta big 'nough to know mya dad. I find him one 
worka man. Him worka hard in da hotta sun — sweat 
lika da wetta rag to maka da 'nough mon' to gitta da 
grub. Mya moth' worka too — work lika da dog. Dey 
make alia da kids work — mea too. Dat maka me 
tired. I see da king, da queen, and da richa peop' 
driva by in da swella style. It maka me sick. I say, 
"Da world alia wrong. Da rich have too mucha mon', 



SELECTED READINGS 81 

too mucha softa snap. Da poor have too mucha work, 
too mucha dirt, too much tougha luck." 

Dat maka me one dago anarchista. I hear 'bout 
America, da freak countra, where da worka man eata 
da minca pie an' da roasa beef. 

I take da skip — taka da ship — sail ova da wat' — 
reacha Newa York. 

Va! It reminda me of Naples — beautifula bay, 
blue sky, da plenta lazaroni and mucha dirta streets. 

I look 'r-round for da easy job. It noa go. Da 
easy jobs alia gone. 

It mora work to gitta da work dan da work itself. 
I gitta down on da richa peop' more anda more alia 
da time. Geea Whiz! Dat freea countra maka me 
sick! 

Well, aft* while I strika da job — pounda da stone 
on da railaroad. It near keela me, but I eata da ver' 
lit' grub, weara da olda clothes, and socka da mon' in 
mya sock eacha day. I learna da one ting — da mon' 
maka da mare go. N 

I catcha da spirit of a da town: I maka what you 
calla da progress. I find da man what maka da mon' 
nev' do da harda work. I quit. I buya da buncha 
banan', putta da banan' ina da bask ona my arm, sella 
him ona da street. Hulla Gee! I maka da twenty-fi' 
cent a day clear. 

Ver* soon I have da gr-rata lotta mon'. I buya one 
handa org'; maka da moss, playa Ta-ra-ra boom all 
ova da countra; maka more mon'; den I buy Joeka 
da monk'. Da monk is like da businessa man — ver' 
smart. I maka him my cashier. Him passa da con- 
tribution box lika da deacon in da church. Him maka 
da face, him dance. 

Da biz grow. We sella da org' — buy one streeta 
piano. I hira one 'sistant. Da 'sistant pusha da 
piano, I grinda da crank, da monk' taka da mon'. 

We gitta da ver' wella off. I gitta mar-r-red. 
Buya me one home, sweeta home. 

I investa ma mon' — buy da fruita stands on da 



82 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

sidawalk — hire da cheapa dago chumps to runna da 
stands. 

Da labor quest' ver' simp* — ver' plain. When I 
poor I say: — "Shoota da monopola! Keela da 
r-r-richa man!" Alia da same like when you in Roma 
do like da Roma peop'. 

Now I one r-richa man. I weara da fine clothes, 
picka my teeth with da golda pick — weara da diamond 
stud — driva my team and snappa my fingers. 

It maka alia da dif ' in da worF which sida da fence 
you stana on. 

Joe Kerr. 

THE SONG OF THE HOUSEKEEPER 

Sing a song of cleaning house! 

Pocket full of nails ! 
Four and twenty dust pans, 

Scrubbing-brooms and pails ! 
When the door is opened, 

Wife begins to sing: — 

"Just help me move this bureau here, 
And hang this picture, won't you, dear, 
And tack that carpet by the door, 
And stretch this one a little more, 
And drive this nail, and screw this screw, 
And here's a job I have for you — 
This closet door will never catch; 
I think you'll have to fix the latch. 
And, oh, while you're about it, John, 
I wish you'd put the cornice on, 
And hang this curtain; when you're done 
I'll hand you up the other one; 
This box has got to have a hinge, 
Before I can put on the fringe; 
And won't you mend that broken chair? 
I'd like a hook put right up there; 
The bureau drawer must have a knob; 



SELECTED READINGS 83 

And here's another little job — 
I really hate to ask you, dear, 
But could you put a bracket here?" 

And on it goes, when these are through, 

With this and that, and those to do, 

Ad infinitum, and more, too, 

All in a merry jingle; 

And isn't it enough to make 

A man wish he were single? (Almost.) 



FINNIGIN TO FLANNIGAN 

Superintendint wuz Flannigan; 
Boss of the siction wuz Finnigin; 
Whiniver the kyars got offen the thrack 
An muddled up things t' th' divil an' back, 
Finnigin writ it to Flannigan, 
Afther the wrick wuz all on agin; 
That is, this Finnigin 
Repoorted to Flannigan. 

Whin Finnigin furst writ to Flannigan, 

He writed tin pages, did Finnigin. 

An' he tould jist how the smash occurred; 

Full minny a tajus, blunderin' wurrd 

Did Finnigin write to Flannigan 

After the cars had gone on agin. 

That wuz how Finnigin 

Repoorted to Flannigan. 

Now Flannigan knowed more than Finnigin; 
He'd more idjucation, had Flannigan; 
An' it wore 'm clane and complately out 
To tell what Finnigin writ about 
In his writin' to Muster Flannigan, 
So he writed back to Finnigin: 
"Don't do sich a sin agin; 
Make 'em brief, Finnigin!" 



84 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Whin Finnigin got this from Flannigan 

He blushed rosy rid, did Finnigin; 

An' he said: "I'll gamble a whole month's pa-ay 

That it will be minny an' minny a da-ay 

Befoore Sup'rintindint, that's Flannigan, 

Gits a whack at this very same sin agin. 

From Finnigin to Flannigan 

Repoorts won't be long agin." 

Wan da-ay on the siction av Finnigin, 

On the road sup'rintinded by Flannigan, 

A rail gave way on a bit av a curve 

An' some kyars went off as they made the swerve. 

"There's nobody hurted," sez Finnigin, 

"But repoorts must be made to Flannigan." 

An' he winked at McGorrigan, 

As married a Finnigin. 

He wuz shantyin* thin, wuz Finnigin, 

As minny a railroader's been agin, 

An' the shmoky ol' lamp wuz burnin' bright 

In Finnigin's shanty all that night — 

Bilin' down his repoort, wuz Finnigin. 

An' he writed this here: "Muster Flannigan: 

Off agin, on agin, 

Gone agin. — Finnigin." 

S. W. Gillilan. 



A WESTERN ARTIST'S ACCOMPLISHMENTS 

"Do you — ahem! — do you ever print any art items 
in your paper?" asked a Bather seedy looking man 
with long hair, a slouch hat, and paint on his fingers, 
softly edging into the inner sanctum the other day. 

The managing editor glanced savagely up from his 
noonday sandwich, and after evidently repressing the 



SELECTED READINGS 85 

desire to add the long-haired party to his viands, re- 
plied in the affirmative. 

"Because/' continued the young man, scowling crit- 
ically at a cheap chromo on the wall, "because I thought 
if you cared to record the progress of real esthetic art 
culture on this coast, you might send your art critic 
around to my studio to take some notes." 

"Might, eh?" said the editor between chews. 

"Yes, sir. For instance there's a mammoth winter 
storm landscape I've just finished for Mr. Mudd, the 
bonanza king. It's called 'A Hail-storm in the 
Adirondacks/ and a visitor who sat down near it the 
other day caught a sore throat in less than fifteen min- 
utes. The illusion is so perfect, you understand. 
Why, I had to put in the finishing touch with my ulster 
and Arctic overshoes on !" 

"Don't say?" 

"Fact, sir; and then there's a little animal gem I 
did for Governor Clerkings the other day, — portrait of 
his Scotch terrier Snap. The morning it was done a 
cat got in the studio, and the minute it saw that picture 
it went through the window sash like a ten-inch shell." 

"Did, eh?" 

"Yes, and the oddest thing about it was that when I 
next looked at the canvas the dog's hair was standing 
up all along his back like a porcupine. Now, how do 
you account for that?" 

"Dunno." 

"It just beats me. When the governor examined the 
work he insisted on my painting in a post with the 
dog chained to it. Said he didn't know what might 
happen." 

"Good scheme," growled the president maker. 

"I don't do much in the animal line, though," con- 
tinued the artist thoughtfully; "that is, since last sum- 
mer I painted a setter dog for an English tourist, and 
shipped it to him at Liverpool. But it seems the fleas 
got into the box and bit so many holes in the canvas, 
that he threw it back on my hands." 



86 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

"Too bad." 

"Wasn't it, though? My best hold, however, is wa- 
ter views. You know George Bromley, and how ab- 
stracted he is sometimes? Well, George dropped in 
one morning and brought up before an eight by twelve 
view of the San Joaquin river with a boat on the bank 
in the foreground. I'm blessed if George didn't 
absent-mindedly take off his coat and step clear through 
the canvas trying to jump into that boat, — thought he'd 
go out rowing, you know. Speaking about the picture 
reminds me of a mean trick that was played on me by 
Dobber, whose studio is right next to mine. He was 
so envious of my large orders that the night before that 
painting was delivered he climbed over the transom and 
smeared out the rope that anchored the boat I spoke of, 
to the shore. The next morning the skiff was gone, — 
floated off down the stream, you see." 

"I do— do I?" 

"It took me four days to paint it in again, — dead 
loss, you see ; although I believe the purchaser did agree 
to pay me twenty-five dollars extra in case it came back 
on the next tide. Pretty square of him, now, wasn't 
it?" 

"Have they carried out that journeyman with the 
smallpox?" said the editor, winking at the foreman who 
had come in just then to swear for copy. 

"Smallpox? That reminds me of a realistic his- 
torical subject I'm engaged on now, entitled 'The 
Plague in Egypt.' I had only completed four of the 
principal figures when last Thursday the janitor, who 
sleeps in the next room, was taken out to the hospital 
with the most pronounced case of leprosy you ever saw, 
and this morning the boy who mixes the paints began 
to scale off like a slate roof. I don't really know 
whether to keep on with the work or not. How does it 
strike you?" 

"It strikes me that you had better slide," said the 
unesthetic molder of public opinion, gruffly. 

"Don't care to send a reporter around, then?" 



SELECTED READINGS 87 

"No, sir." 

"Wouldn't like to give an order for a life size 'Gut- 
tenburg discovering the printing-press/ eh?" 

"Nary order." 

"Don't want a seven by nine group of the staff done 
in oil or crayon?" 

"No," said the editor, as he again lowered himself 
into the depths of a leader on the Roumanian Im- 
broglio, "but if you care to touch up two window 
frames, some desk legs, and the fighting editor's black 
eye for four bits and a lot of comic exchanges, you can 
sail in." 

"It's a whack!" promptly ejaculated the disciple of 
esthetic culture; and borrowing a cigarette from the 
dramatic critic on account, he drifted off after his 
brushes. 



POSTPONED 

Come along, old chap, yer time's 'bout up, 
'Cause now we got a brindle pup; 
I 'lows it's tough an' mighty hard, 
But a toothless dog's no good on guard, 
So jes' trot along right after me, 
An' I'll put yeh out o' yeh misery. 

Now, quit yer waggin' that stumpy tail — 
We ain't a-going fer rabbit er quail; 
'Sides you couldn't p'int a bird no more, 
Yer old an' blind an' stiff an' sore, 
An' that's why I loaded the gun to-day — 
Yer a-gittin' cross an' in the way. 

I been thinkin' it over; 'tain't no fun, 

I don't like to do it, but it's got to be done. 

Got sort of a notion you know, too, 

The kind of a job we're goin' to do; 

Else why would yeh hang back that-a-way? 

Yeh ain't ez young ez yeh once wuz, hey? 



88 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Frisky dog in them days, I note, 

When yeh nailed the sneak thief by the throat; 

Can't do that now, an' there ain't no need 

A-keepin' a dog that don't earn his feed. 

So yeh got to make way fer the brindle pup; 

Come along, old chap, your time's 'bout up. 

We'll travel along at an easy jog — 
'Course, you don't know, bein' only a dog; 
But I can mind when you wuz spryer, 
'Wakin' us up when the barn caught fire — 
It don't seem possible, yet I know 
That wuz close onto fifteen year ago. 

My! but yer hair wuz long an' thick, 
When yeh pulled little Sally out o' the crick; 
An' it came in handy that night in the storm, 
We coddled to keep each other warm. 
Purty good dog, I'll admit — but say, 
What's the use o' talkin', yeh had yer day. 

I'm hopin' the children won't hear the crack, 
Er what'll I say when I git back? 
They'd be askin' questions, I know their talk, 
An' I'd have to lie 'bout a chicken hawk; 
But the sound won't carry beyond this hill; 
All done in a minute — don't bark, stand still. 

There, that'll do; steady, quit lickin' my hand. 

What's wrong with this gun, I can't understand, 

I'm jest as shaky ez I can be — 

Must be the agey's the matter with me. 

An' that stitch in the back — what! gittin' old, too? 

The — dinner — bell's — ringin' — fer — me — an' — you. 

An' that stitch in the back makes it hard to hold 

This here gun steady — I'm gittin' old. 

Thet's what's the matter with me I allow, 

(Are you sayin' yer pra-h-rs that yeh stan' so still now, 



SELECTED READINGS 89 

Jest a-lookin' at me?) Yes, we're all gittin' old, 
An' ye're to be shot — an' th' gun to be sold, 
And — phew ! I never once took thought o' what 
Would become o' me when I'm old and sot, 

In my ways — and cross — and can't work no more, 

But jest set alongside the stove — and snore, 

Like Gran'pap Higgins — what some people say 

His folks got tired of and sent away 

To the poor-house! — old chap, I'm gittin' old, too — 

Come! the dinner bell's ringin' fer me — and you! 

Charles E. Baer. 



THE WHISTLER 

"You have heard," said a youth to his sweetheart, who 
stood 

While he sat on a corn-sheaf, at daylight's decline, — 
"You have heard of the Danish boy's whistle of wood: 

I wish that the Danish boy's whistle were mine." 

"And what would you do with it? Tell me," she said, 
While an arch smile played over her beautiful face. 

"I would blow it," he answered, "and then my fair 
maid 
Would fly to my side and would there take her place." 

"Is that all you wish for? Why, that may be yours 
Without any magic!" the fair maiden cried: 

"A favor so slight one's good-nature secures;" 
And she playfully seated herself by his side. 

"I would blow it again," said the youth; "and the 
charm 
Would work so that not even modesty's check 
Would be able to keep from my neck your white arm." 
She smiled and she laid her white arm round his 
neck. 



90 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

"Yet once more I would blow; and the music divine 
Would bring me a third time an exquisite bliss, — 

You would lay your fair cheek to this brown one of 
mine; 
And your lips stealing past it would give me a kiss." 

The maiden laughed out in her innocent glee, — 

"What a fool of yourself with the whistle you'd 
make! 

For only consider how silly 'twould be 

To sit there and whistle for what you might take." 



WHAT THE LITTLE GIRL SAID 

"Ma's up-stairs changing her dress/' said the 
freckle-faced little girl, tying her doll's bonnet strings 
and casting her eye about for a tidy large enough to 
serve as a shawl for that double-jointed young person. 

"Oh, your mother needn't dress up for me," replied 
the female agent of the missionary society, taking a 
self-satisfied view of herself in the mirror. "Run up 
and tell her to come down just as she is in her every- 
day clothes, and not stand on ceremony." 

"Oh, but she hasn't got on her every-day clothes. 
Ma was all dressed up in her new brown silk dress, 
'cause she expected Miss Dimmond to-day. Miss Dim- 
mond always comes over here to show off her nice 
things, and ma doesn't mean to get left. When ma 
saw you coming she said, 'the dickens !' and I guess she 
was mad about something. Ma said if you saw her new 
dress, she'd have to hear all about the poor heathen, 
who don't have silk, and you'd ask her for money to 
buy hymn books to send 'em. Say, do the nigger 
ladies use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up on and 
make it frizzy? Ma says she guesses that's all the 
good the books do 'em, if they ever get any books. I 
wish my doll was a heathen." 



SELECTED READINGS 91 

"Why, you wicked little girl ! what do you want of a 
heathen doll?" inquired the missionary lady, taking a 
mental inventory of the new things in the parlor to get 
material for a homily on worldly extravagance. 

"So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, 
and feel sorry to have her going about naked. Then 
she'd have hair to frizz, and I want a doll with truly 
hair and eyes that roll up like Deacon Silderback's 
when he says amen on Sunday. I ain't a wicked girl, 
either, 'cause Uncle Dick — you know Uncle Dick, he's 
been out West and swears awful and smokes in the 
house — he says I'm a holy terror, and he hopes I'll be 
an angel pretty soon. Ma'll be down in a minute, so 
you needn't take your cloak off. She said she'd box 
my ears if I asked you to. Ma's putting on that old 
dress she had last year, 'cause she didn't want you to 
think she was able to give much this time, and she 
needed a muiF worse than the queen of the cannon-ball 
islands needed religion. Uncle Dick says you oughter 
get to the islands, 'cause you'd be safe there, and the 
natives would be sorry they was such sinners anybody 
would send you to 'em. He says he never seen a 
heathen hungry enough to eat you, 'less 'twas a blind 
one, an' you'd set a blind pagan's teeth on edge so he'd 
never hanker after any more missionary. Uncle 
Dick's awful funny, and makes ma and pa die laugh- 
ing sometimes." 

"Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved wretch, and 
ought to have remained out West, where his style is 
appreciated. He sets a horrid example for little girls 
like you." 

"Oh, I think he's nice. He showed me how to slide 
down the banisters, and he's teaching me to whistle 
when ma ain't around. That's a pretty cloak you've 
got, ain't it ? Do you buy all your clothes with mis- 
sionary money? Ma says you do." 

Just then the freckle-faced little girl's ma came into 
the parlor and kissed the missionary lady on the cheek 
and said she was delighted to see her, and they pro- 



92 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

ceeded to have a real sociable chat. The little girl's 
ma cannot understand why a person who professes to 
be so charitable as the missionary agent does should go 
right over to Miss Dimmond's and say such ill-natured 
things as she did, and she thinks the missionary is a 
double-faced gossip. 



MUCKLE-MOUTH MEG 

Frowned the Laird on the Lord: "So, red-handed I 
catch thee? 

Death-doomed by our law of the border ! 
We've a gallows outside and a chiel to dispatch thee : 

Who trespasses — hangs: all's in order." 

He met frown with smile, did the young English gal- 
lant: 

Then the Laird's dame: "Nay, Husband, I beg! 
He's comely : be merciful ! Grace for the callant 

— If he marries our Muckle-mouth Meg!" 

"No mile-wide mouthed monster of yours do I marry, 
Grant rather the gallows !" laughed he. 

"Foul fare kith and kin of you — why do you tarry?" 
"To tame your fierce temper !" quoth she. 

"Shove him quick in the Hole, shut him fast for a 
week: 

Cold, darkness, and hunger work wonders ; 
Who lion-like roars now, mouse-fashion will squeak, 

And 'it rains' soon succeed to 'it thunders.' " 

A week did he bide in the cold and the dark 

— Not hunger; for duly at morning 
In flitted a lass, and a voice like a lark 

Chirped, "Muckle-mouth Meg still ye're scorning?" 



SELECTED READINGS 93 

Go hang, but here's parritch to hearten ye first !" 
"Did Meg's muckle-mouth boast within some 

Such music as yours, mine would match it or burst. 
No frog-jaws! So tell folk, my Winsome!" 

Soon week came to end, and, from Hole's door set 
wide, 

Out he marched, and there waited the lassie; 
"Yon gallows, or Muckle-mouth Meg for a bride! 

Consider! Sky's blue and turf's grassy; 

Life's sweet; shall I say ye wed Muckle-mouth Meg?" 
"Not I," quoth the stout heart; "too eerie 

The mouth that can swallow the bubblyjock's egg; 
Shall I let it munch mine? Never, Dearie?" 

"Not Muckle-mouth Meg. Wow, the obstinate man ! 

Perhaps he would rather wed me !" 
"Ay, would he — with just for a dowry your can!" 

"I'm Muckle-mouth Meg," chirruped she. 

"Then so — so — so — so — " as he kissed her apace — 

"Will I widen thee out till thou turnest 
From Margaret Minnikin-mou', by God's grace, 

To muckle-mouth Meg in good earnest?" 

Robert Browning. 



THE KITCHEN CLOCK 

Knitting is the maid o' the kitchen, Milly; 
Doing nothing, sits the chore boy, Billy: 
"Seconds reckoned; 
Every minute, 
Sixty in it. 
Milly, Billy, 
Billy, Milly, 
Tick-tock, tock-tick, 



94 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Nick-knock, knock-nick, 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Closer to the fire is rosy Milly; 
Every whit as close and cozy, Billy: 
"Time's a-flying, 
Worth your trying; 
Pretty Milly— 
Kiss her, Billy! 
Milly, Billy, 
Billy, Milly, 
Tick-tock, tock-tick, 
Now — now, quick — quick! 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Something's happened, very red is Milly; 
Billy boy is looking very silly ; 
"Pretty misses, 
Plenty kisses; 
Make it twenty, 
Take a plenty. 
Billy, Milly, 
Milly, Billy, 
Right-left, left-right, 
That's right, all right, 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Weeks gone, still they're sitting, Milly, Billy; 

Oh ! the winter winds are wondrous chilly ! 

"Winter weather, 

Close together; 

Wouldn't tarry, 

Better marry, 

Milly, Billy, 

Billy, Milly, 

Two-one, one-two, 



SELECTED READINGS 95 

Don't wait, 'twont do, 
Knockety-nick, nickety-knock," 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

Winters two have gone, and where is Milly? 
Spring has come again, and where is Billy ? 
"Give me credit, 
For I did it; 
Treat me kindly, 
Mind you wind me. 
Mister Billy, 
Mistress Milly, 
My— Oh! Oh!— my! 
By-by, by-by, 

Nickety-knock, cradle rock," 
Goes the kitchen clock. 

John Vance Cheney. 



BftUDDER BROWN ON "APPLES" 

Bredderen an' Sisteren: 

I'se gwine to gib you what I hope will prove to you a 
fruitful disco'se, — de subject am dat ob apples. Dem 
ob my hearers dat only look upon de apple wid an eye 
to apple sass, apple flitters, apple pies, apple dumplins, 
an' apple toddies, will hardly be able to comprestand de 
applecation of my lectar ; — to dem I leab de peelins, an' 
direct de seeds ob my disco'se to such as hab souls above 
apple dumplins, and taste above apple tarts. 

Now de apple, accordin' to Linnaeus, the phlea-bo- 
tanist, am a fruit originally exported from Adam's ap- 
ple-orchard in de Garden ob Eden, an' made indig- 
genous in ebry climate 'cept de north pole an' its neigh- 
boren territory de Roily holly alls. 

De apple, accordin' to those renowned Lexumcogra- 
phers, Samuel Johnson, Danuel Webster, Jimuel 
Walker, an' Doctor Skeleton McKensie, am the py-rus 
molus, which means "To be molded into pies." 



96 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

De apple has been de fruit ob great tings, an' great 
tings hab been de fruit ob de apple. It was an apple 
dat fust suggested to Sir Humphrey Gravy Newtown 
de seeds ob the law of grabitation, dat wonderful, 
inwisible, an' unfrizable patent leber principle by 
which all dem luminous an' voluminous planets turn 
round togedder ail-apart in one E pluribus unum ob 
grabity, hence de great poet Longfeller, in de flfty- 
'leventh canto ob Lord Byron obsarves : 

"Man fell by apples, an' by apples rose." 

Sir Humphrey Gravy Newtown was one day snoozen 
fast asleep under an apple tree, when a large sized 
Kentucky pippen grabitated from de limb, struck him 
in de eye, an' all at once his eye was suddenly opened 
to the universal law ob grabitation: 

He saw de apple downwards fell, 

He thought, "Why not fall up as well," 

It proved some telegraphic spell, 

Pulled it arthwise. 
I wish he'd now come back an' tell 

Why apples rise. 

But, my hearers, to come to de grand point ob my 
larned disquisition on apples. Reasoning ap-priori, I 
proceed to dis grand fromologico-physiological phree- 
nomenon, dat eber since our great-grand-modder Eve 
and our great-great-grand-fader Adam fust tasted 
apple-jack in de orchard ob Eden, de entire human 
race an' woman race in partic'lar, has been impregnated 
wid de spirit ob de apple, an' dat all men an women, 
an' de rest ob mankind, may be compared to some 
Genus ob de Apple. Dars de Philanthropist, he's 
a good meller pippen, — always ripe and full ob de 
seeds ob human kindness. Dars de Miser, he's de 
"grindstone" apple, — rock to de very core. Dars de 
Bachelor, he am a rusty coat, an' like a beefsteak wid- 
out gravy, dry to de very heart. Dars de Dandy, he's 
de sheepnose, — a long stem an' de rest peelen. Dars 



SELECTED READINGS 97 

de Farmer, he's de cart-house apple, — a leetle rough 
on de peelen, but juicy wid feelen. De Fashionable 
gent am a French pippen, an' de fashionable young 
lady am de Bell-flower; an' when two sich apples am 
joined togedder, dey become a pear (pair). De Polly- 
tician am a speckled apple, — a little foul sometimes at 
de core. De young Misses am de "maiden's blushes." 
De Widder, she am a pine-apple, — pine-en an' sprouten 
in de dark leaves to blossom once more. De good 
Wife, she am de balsam-apple ob human life; de Hus- 
band am de king-apple ; the Chil'en am de golden sweets ; 
an' de Babies in de cradle am apple blossoms. De Old 
Folks on de back seat am de dried apples; de Young 
Men in their teens am de greenin's, — but fit for nothin' 
till they come to maturity. De man widout any har 
am de Baldwin ; de Tippler am de winesap ; an de Dude, 
he am de quince; this originally was an apple, but got 
so far from de species, dat nobody would ever know 
it. De Old Maid am de seek-no-further, — waiten' for 
somebody to bite it. De Modder-in-law (bitterly), she 
am de Crab apple, — a fruit never known in de apple- 
orchard ob Paradise, an' only fit for Sourland; put 
her in de cider press ob human affection, an' she'll 
come out forty-'leventh proof vinegar, strong enough 
to sour all human creation. 

Lastly, and to conclude, bredderen and sisteren, let it 
be our great aim, howsomever we may differ in our 
various apple species, to strive to go in to de great cider 
press ob human trial widout a speck in de core or de 
peelen. 



THE CREEDS OF THE BELLS 

How sweet the chime of the Sabbath bells ! 
Each one its creed in music tells, 
In tones that float upon the air, 
As soft as song, as pure as prayer; 
And I will put in simple rhyme 



COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

4 

The language of the golden chime; 
My happy heart with rapture swells 
Responsive to the bells, sweet bells. 

"Ye purifying waters swell!" 
In mellow tones rang out a bell; 
"Though faith alone in Christ can save, 
Man must be plunged beneath the wave, 
To show the world unfaltering faith 
In what the Sacred Scriptures saith: 
O swell ! ye rising waters, swell !" 
Pealed out the clear-toned Baptist bell 

"Oh, heed the ancient landmarks well!" 
In solemn tones exclaimed a bell; 
"No progress made by mortal man 
Can change the just eternal plan: 
With God there can be nothing new; 
Ignore the false, embrace the true, 
While all is well! is well! is well!" 
Pealed out the good old Dutch church belL 

"In deeds of love excel ! excel !" 
Chimed out from ivied towers, a bell; 
"This is the church not built on sands, 
Emblem of one not built with hands; 
Its forms and sacred rites revere, 
Come worship here! come worship here! 
In rituals and faith excel!" 
Chimed out the Episcopalian bell. 

"Not faith alone, but works as well, 
Must test the soul !" said a soft bell ; 
"Come here and cast aside your load, 
And work your way along the road, 
With faith in God and faith in man, 
And hope in Christ, where hope began,, 
Do well! do well! do well! do well!" 
Rang out the Unitarian bell. 



SELECTED READINGS 99 

"To all, the truth we tell! we tell!" 
Shouted in ecstasies a bell; 
"Come, all ye weary wanderers, see! 
Our Lord has made salvation free! 
Repent, believe, have faith, and then 
Be saved, and praise the Lord, Amen! 
Salvation's free, we tell! we tell!" 
Shouted the Methodistic bell. 

"Farewell! farewell! base world, farewell!" 
In touching tones exclaimed a bell; 
"Life is a boon, to mortals given, 
To fit the soul for bliss in heaven; 
Do not invoke the avenging rod, 
Come here and learn the way to God; 
Say to the world, farewell! farewell!" 
Pealed forth the Presbyterian bell. 

"In after life there is no hell!" 
In raptures rang a cheerful bell; 
"Look up to heaven this holy day, 
Where angels wait to lead the way; 
There are no fires, no fiends to blight 
The future life; be just and right. 
No hell! no hell! no hell! no hell!" 
Rang out the Universalist bell. 

"The Pilgrim Fathers heeded well 

My cheerful voice," pealed forth a bell; 

"No fetters here to clog the soul; 

No arbitrary creeds control 

The free heart and progressive mind. 

That leave the dusty past behind. 

Speed well, speed well, speed well, speed well!' 

Pealed out the Independent bell. 

"No pope, no pope, to doom to hell!" 
The Protestant rang out a bell; 
"Great Luther left his fiery zeal, 



100 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Within the hearts that truly feel 
That loyalty to God will be 
The fealty that makes men free. 
No images where incense fell!" 
Rang out old Martin Luther's bell. 

Neatly attired, in manner plain, 
Behold a pilgrim — no spot, no stain — 
Slowly, with soft and measured tread, 
In Quaker garb — no white — no red. 
To passing friend — I hear him say— 
"Here worship thou — this is the way — 
No churchly form — it is not well, 
No bell, no bell, no bell, no bell." 

George W. Bungay. 



THE MINISTER'S GRIEVANCES 

"Brethren," said the aged minister, as he stood up 
before the church meeting on New Year's Eve, "I am 
afraid we will have to part. I have labored among you 
now for fifteen years, and I feel that that is almost 
enough, under the peculiar circumstances in which I 
am placed. Not that I am exactly dissatisfied; but a 
clergyman who has been preaching to sinners for fifteen 
years for five hundred dollars a year, naturally feels 
that he is not doing a great work when Deacon Jones, 
acting as an officer of the church, pays his last quarter's 
salary in a promissory note at six months, and then, act- 
ing as an individual, offers to discount it for him at ten 
per cent, if he will take it part out in clover seed and 
pumpkins. 

"I feel somehow as if it would take about eighty-four 
years of severe preaching to prepare the deacon for 
existence in a felicitous hereafter. Let me say, also, 
that while I am deeply grateful to the congregation for 
the donation party they gave me on Christmas, I have 



SELECTED READINGS 101 

calculated that it would be far more profitable for me 
to shut my house and take to the woods than endure 
another one. I will not refer to the impulsh 2 gen- 
erosity which persuaded Sister Potter to come with a 
present of eight clothes pins; I will not insinuate any- 
thing against Brother Ferguson, who brought with him 
a quarter of a peck of dried apples of the crop of 
1872; I shall not allude to the benevolence of Sister 
Tynhirst, who came with a pen-wiper and a tin horse 
for the baby; I shall refrain from commenting upon 
the impression made by Brother Hill, who brought 
four phosphorescent mackerel, possibly with an idea 
that they might be useful in dissipating the gloom in 
my cellar. I omit reference to Deacon Jones' present 
of an elbow of stove-pipe and a bundle of toothpicks, 
and I admit that when Sister Peabody brought me 
sweetened sausage-meat, and salted and peppered 
mince-meat for pies, she did right in not forcing her 
own family to suffer from her mistake in mixing the 
material. But I do think I may fairly remark respect- 
ing the case of Sister Walsingham, that after careful 
thought I am unable to perceive how she considered 
that a present of a box of hair-pins to my wife justified 
her in consuming half a pumpkin pie, six buttered 
muffins, two platefuls of oysters, and a large variety 
of miscellaneous food, previous to jamming herself full 
of preserves, and proceeding to the parlor to join in 
singing 'There is rest for the weary !' Such a destruc- 
tion of the necessaries of life doubtless contributes ad- 
mirably to the stimulation of commerce, but it is far 
too large a commercial operation to rest solely upon the 
basis of a ten-cent box of hair-pins. 

"As for matters in the church, I do not care to dis- 
cuss them at length. I might say much about the 
manner in which the congregation were asked to con- 
tribute clothing to our mission in Senegambia; we re- 
ceived nothing but four neck-ties and a brass breast- 
pin, excepting a second-hand carriage-whip that Deacon 
Jones gave us. I might allude to the frivolous manner 



102 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

in which Brother Atkinson, our tenor, converses with 
Sister Priestly, our soprano, during my sermons, and 
last Sunday kissed her when he thought I was not look- 
ing; I might allude to the absent-mindedness which has 
permitted Brother Brown twice lately to put half a dol- 
lar on the collection-plate and take off two quarters 
and a ten-cent piece in change ; and I might dwell upon 
the circumstance that while Brother Toombs, the un- 
dertaker, sings 'I would not live alway' with profes- 
sional enthusiasm that is pardonable, I do not see why 
he should throw such unction into the hymn 'I am un- 
worthy though I give my all,' when he is in arrears 
for two years' pew-rent, and is always busy examining 
the carpet-pattern when the plate goes round. I 
also — " 

But here Brother Toombs turned off the gas sud- 
denly, and the meeting adjourned full of indignation 
at the good pastor. His resignation was accepted 
unanimously. 



THE VOLUNTEER ORGANIST 

The gret big church wuz crowded full uv broadcloth 

an' of silk, 
An' satins rich as cream thet grows on our ol' brindle's 

milk; 
Shined boots, biled shirts, stiff dickeys, an' stove-pipe 

hats were there, 
An' dudes 'ith trouserloons so tight they couldn't kneel 

down in prayer. 

The elder in his poolpit high, said, as he slowly riz: 
"Our organist is kep' to hum, laid up 'ith roomatiz, 
An' as we hev no substitoot, as brother Moore ain't 

here, 
Will some 'un in the congregation be so kind 's to 

volunteer?" 



SELECTED READINGS 103 

An* then a red-nosed, blear-eyed tramp, of low-toned, 

rowdy style, 
Give an interductory hiccup, an' then swaggered up 

the aisle. 
Then thro' that holy atmosphere there crep' a sense er 

sin, 
An' thro' thet air of sanctity the odor uv ol' gin. 

Then Deacon Purington he yelled, his teeth all set on 

edge: 
"This man per fanes the house er God! W'y, this is 

sacrilege !" 
The tramp didn' hear a word he said, but slouched 'ith 

stumblin' feet, 
An' stalked an' swaggered up the steps, an* gained the 

organ seat. 

He then went pawin* thro' the keys, an' soon there rose 

a strain 
Thet seemed to jest bulge out the heart, an' 'lectrify 

the brain; 
An' then he slapped down on the thing 'ith hands an' 

head an' knees, 
He slam-dashed his hull body down kerflop upon the 

keys. 

The organ roared, the music flood went sweepin' high 

an' dry, 
It swelled into the rafters, an' bulged out into the sky; 
The ol' church shook and staggered, an' seemed to reel 

an' sway, 
An' the elder shouted "Glory!" an' I yelled out 

"Hooray!" 

An' then he tried a tender strain that melted in our 

ears, 
Thet brought up blessed memories and drenched 'em 

down 'ith tears; 



104 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

An* we dreamed uv oF time kitchens, 'ith Tabby on the 

mat, 
Uv* home an* luv an' baby days, an' mother, an' all 

that! 

An' then he struck a streak uv hope — a song from souls 

forgiven — 
Thet burst from prison bars uv sin, an' stormed the 

gates uv heaven; 
The morning stars together sung — no soul wuz left 

alone — 
We felt the universe wuz safe, an' God was on His 

throne ! 

An' then a wail of deep despair an' darkness come 
again, 

An' long, black crepe hung on the doors uv all the 
homes uv men; 

No luv, no light, no joy, no hope, no songs of glad de- 
light, 

An' then — the tramp, he swaggered down an' reeled 
out into the night! 

But we knew he'd toF his story, tho' he never spoke a 

word, 
An* it was the saddest story thet our ears had ever 

heard ; 
He hed toF his own life history, an' no eye was dry 

thet day, 
Wen the elder rose an' simply said: "My brethren, 

let us pray." 

Sam Walter Foss. 



AT THE STAGE-DOOR 

The curtain had fallen, the lights were dim, 
The rain came down with a steady pour; 

A white-haired man, with a kindly face, 

Peered through the panes of the old stage-door. 



SELECTED READINGS 105 

"I'm getting too old to be drenched like that/' 
He muttered/ and, turning, met face to face 

The woman, whose genius, an hour before, 
Like a mighty power had filled the place. 

"Yes, much too old," with a smile, she said, 

And she laid her hand on his silver hair; 
"You shall ride with me to your home to-night, 

For that is my carriage standing there." 
The old door-tender stood, doffing his hat 

And holding the door, but she would not stir, 
Though he said it was not for the "likes of him 

To ride in a kerridge with such as her." 

"Come, put out your lights," she said to him, 

"I've something important I wish to say, 
And I can't stand here in the draught, you know, 

I can tell you much better while on the way." 
So into the carriage the old man crept, 

Thanking her gratefully o' N er and o'er, 
Till she bade him listen while she would tell 

A story concerning that old stage-door. 

"It was raining in torrents ten years ago 

This very night, and a friendless child 
Stood shivering there by that old stage-door, 

Dreading her walk, in a night so wild. 
She was only one of the 'extra' girls, 

But you gave her a nickel to take the car, 
And said 'Heaven bless ye, my little one, 

Ye can pay me back if ye ever star.' 

"So you cast your bread on the waters then, 

And I pay you back as my heart demands, 
And we're even now — no, not quite," she said, 

As she emptied her purse in his trembling hands. 
"And, if ever you're needy and want a friend, 

You know where to come, for your little mite 
Put hope in my heart and made me strive 

To gain the success you have seen to-night." 



106 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Then the carriage stopped at the old man's door, 

And the gas-light shone on him standing there; 
And he stepped to the curb as she rolled away, 

While his thin lips murmured a fervent prayer. 
He looked at the silver and bills and gold, 

And he said: "She gives all this to me? 
My bread has come back a thousand-fold, 

God bless her! God bless all such as she." 

James Clarence Harvey. 



THERE'LL BE ROOM IN HEAVEN 

She was a little old woman, very plainly dressed in 
black bombazine that had seen much careful wear; her 
bonnet was very old-fashioned, and people stared at 
her tottering up the aisle of the church, evidently bent 
on securing one of the best seats, for a great man 
preached that day. The house was filled with splen- 
didly dressed people who had heard of the fame of the 
preacher, of his learning, his intellect and goodness, 
and they wondered at the presumption of the poor old 
woman. She must have been in her dotage, for she 
picked out the pew of the richest and proudest member 
of the church and took a seat. The three ladies who 
were seated there beckoned to the sexton, who bent 
over the intruder and whispered something, but she was 
hard of hearing, and smiled a little withered smile, 
as she said, gently: "Oh, I'm quite comfortable here, 
quite comfortable." 

"But you are not wanted here," said the sexton, pom- 
pously; "there is not room. Come with me, my good 
woman; I will see that you have a seat." 

"Not room," said the old woman, looking at her 
shrunken proportions, and then at the fine ladies. 
"Why, I'm not crowded a bit. I rode ten miles to hear 
the sermon to-day because — " 

But here the sexton took her by the arm, snook her 



SELECTED READINGS 107 

roughly in a polite underhand way, and then she took 
the hint. Her faded old eyes filled with tears, her 
chin quivered; but she rose meekly and left the pew. 
Turning quietly to the ladies, who were spreading their 
rich dresses over the space she left vacant, she said 
gently: "I hope, my dears, there'll be room in heaven 
for us all." Then she followed the pompous sexton 
to the rear of the church where, in the last pew, she 
was seated between a threadbare girl and a shabby old 
man. 

"She must be crazy," said one of the ladies in the 
pew which she had first occupied. "What can an igno- 
rant old woman like her want to hear Dr. preach 

for? She would not be able to understand a word he 
said." 

"Those people are so persistent! The idea of her 
forcing herself into our pew. Isn't that voluntary 

lovely! There's Dr. coming out of the vestry. 

Is he not grand?" 

"Splendid ! What a stately man ! You know he 
has promised to dine with us while he is here." 

He was a commanding looking man, and as the organ 
voluntary stopped, and he looked over the great crowd 
of worshipers gathered in the vast church, he seemed 
to scan every face. His hand was on the Bible when 
suddenly he leaned over the reading desk and beckoned 
to the sexton, who obsequiously mounted the steps to 
receive a mysterious message. And then the three 
ladies in the grand pew were electrified to see him take 
his way the whole length of the church to return with 
the old woman, when he placed her in the front pew 
of all, its other occupants making willing room for her. 
The great preacher looked at her with a smile of recog- 
nition, and then the services proceeded, and he preached 
a sermon that struck fire from every heart. 

"Who was she ?" asked the ladies who could not make 
room for her, as they passed the sexton at the door. 

"The preacher's mother," was the reply. 



108 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 



NO SECT IN HEAVEN 

Talking of sects till late one eve, 
Of the various doctrines the saints believe, 
That night I stood in a troubled dream, 
By the side of a darkly-flowing stream, 

And a "Churchman" down to the river came; 
When I heard a strange voice call his name: 
"Good father, stop; when you cross this tide, 
You must leave your robe on the other side." 

But the aged father did not mind, 
And his long gown floated out behind, 
As down the stream his way he took, 
His pale hands clasping a gilt-edged book. 

I saw him again on the other side, 
But his silk gown floated on the tide; 
And no one asked in that blissful spot, 
Whether he belonged to "the Church" or not. 

Then down to the river a Quaker strayed, 
His dress of somber hue was made; 
"My coat and hat must be all of gray, 
I cannot go any other way." 

As he entered heaven, his suit of gray 
Went quietly sailing — away — away. 
And none of the angels questioned him, 
About the width of his beaver's brim. 

Next came Dr. Watts with a bundle of Psalms 

Piled nicely up in his aged arms, 

And hymns as many, a very wise thing, 

That the people in heaven "all round" might sing. 

And after him, with his MSS., 

Came Wesley, the pattern of godliness, 



SELECTED READINGS 109 

But he cried, "Dear me, what shall I do? 

The water has soaked them through and through/'* 

And there on the river, far and wide, 

Away they went down the swollen tide, 

And the saint, astonished, passed through alone, 

Without his manuscripts, up to the throne. 

Then gravely walking, two saints by name, 
Down to the stream together came, 
But as they stopped at the river's brink;, 
I saw one saint from the other shrink. 

"Sprinkled or plunged, may I ask you, friend, 
How you attained to life's great end?" 
"Thus, with a few drops on my brow," 
"But I have been dipped, as you may see now. 

And I really think it will hardly do, 
As I'm 'close communion/ to cross with you; 
You're bound, I know, to the realms of bliss, 
But you must go that way, and I'll go this." 

And now when the river was rolling on, 

A Presbyterian church went down ; 

Of women there seemed an innumerable throng, 

But the men I could count as they passed along. 

And concerning the road, they could never agree, 
The old and the new way, which should it be, 
Nor even a moment paused to think 
That both would lead to the river's brink. 

And a sound of murmuring long and loud 
Came ever up from the moving crowd: 
"You're in the old way, and I'm in the new, 
That is the false, and this is the true," — 
Or, "I'm in the old way, you're in the new, 
That is the false, and this is the true." 



HO COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

I watched them long in my curious dream, 
Till they stood by the border of the stream, 
And all who in Christ the Saviour died 
Came out alike on the other side. 

IN CHURCH— DURING THE LITANY 

"I'm glad we got here early, Nell; 

We're not obliged to sit to-day 
Behind those horrid Smith girls — well, 

I'm glad they go so soon away. 
How does this cushion match my dress? 

I think it looks quite charmingly." 
Bowed sweetly to the Smith's, "Oh! yes— 
Responds. — Pride, vanity, hypocrisy. 
Good Lord, deliver us. 

"I hate those haughty Courteneys ! 
I'm sure they needn't feel so fine 
Above us all, for mamma says 

Their dresses aren't as nice as mine. 
And one's engaged; so, just for fun, 

To make her jealous — try to win 
Her lover — show her how 'tis done." 
Responds.— From hatred, envy, mischief, sin, 
Good Lord, deliver us. 

"To-day the rector is. to preach 

In aid of missionary work; 
He'll say he hopes and trusts that each 

Will nobly give, nor duty shirk. 
I hate to give, but then one must, 

You know we have a forward seat. 
People can see — they will, I trust." 
Responds. — From want of charity, deceit, 
Good Lord, deliver us. 

"Did you know Mr. Gray had gone? 
That handsome Mr. Rogers, too? 



SELECTED READINGS 111 

Dear me! we shall be quite forlorn 

If all the men leave — and so few ! 
I trust that we with Cupid's darts 

May capture some — let them beware." 
Responds. — Behold the sorrow of our hearts, 
And, Lord, with mercy, 
Hear our prayers ! 



THE SPELLING CLASS 

INSCRIBED TO ALL MODEL SPELLERS 

Stand up, ye spellers now and spell — 
Since spelling matches are the rage, 

Spell Phenakistoscope and Knell, 
Diphtheria, Syzygy, and Gauge. 

Or take some simple word as Chilly, 

Or Willie or the garden Lily. 

To spell such words as Syllogism, 

And Lachrymose and Synchronism, 

And Pentateuch and Saccharine, 

Apocrypha and Celendine, 

Lactiferous and Cecity, 

Jejune and Homoeopathy, 

Paralysis and Chloroform, 

Rhinoceros and Pachyderm, 

Metempsychosis, Gherkins, Basque, 

It is certainly no easy task. 

Kaleidoscope and Tennessee, 

Kamchatka and Dispensary, 

Would make some spellers colicky. 

Diphthong and Erysipelas, 

And Etiquette and Sassafras, 

Infallible and Ptyalism, 

Allopathy and Rheumatism, 

And Cataclysm and Beleaguer, 

Twelfth, Eighteenth, Rendezvous, Intriguer s 

And hosts of other words are found 



112 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

On English and on Classic ground. 

Thus Behring Straits and Michaelmas, 

Thermopylae, Cordilleras, 

Suite, Jalap, Hemorrhage, and Havana, 

Cinquefoil and Ipecacuanha, 

And Rappahannock, Shenandoah, 

And Schuylkill and a thousand more 

Are words some prime good spellers miss, 

In Dictionary lands like this. 

Nor need one think himself a Scroyle, 

If some of these his efforts foil, 

Nor deem himself undone forever 

To miss the name of either river; 

The Dnieper, Seine or Guadalquiver. 

E. P. Dyer. 



WHEN GREEK MET GREEK 

Stranger here? Yes, come from Varmount, 

Rutland county. You've hern tell 
Mebbe of the town of Granville? 

You born there? No! sho! Well, well! 
You was born at Granville, was you? 

Then you know Elisha Brown, 
Him as runs the old meat market 

At the lower end of town! 
Well! well! well! Born down in Granville! 

And out here, so far away! 
Stranger, I'm homesick already, 

Though it's but a week to-day 
Since I left my good wife standin* 

Out there at the kitchen door, 
Sayin' she'd ask God to keep me; 

And her eyes were runnin' o'er! 
You must know ole Albert Withers, 

Henry Bell and Ambrose Cole? 
Know them all? And born in Granville! 

Well! well! well! Why, bless my soul! 



SELECTED READINGS 113 

Sho! You're not old Isaac's nephew? 

Isaac Green, down on the flat! 
Isaac's oldest nephew, — Henry ? 

Well, I'd never thought of that! 
Have I got a hundred dollars 

I could loan you for a minute, 
Till you buy a horse at Marcy's? 

There's my wallet! Just that in it! 
Hold on though! You have ten, mebbe, 

You could let me keep; you see 
I might chance to need a little 

Betwixt now and half past three! 
Ten. That's it; you'll owe me ninety; 

Bring it round to the hotel. 
So you're old friend Isaac's nephew? 

Born in Granville! Sho! Well, well! 

What! policeman, did you call me? 

That a rascal going there? 
Well, sir; do you know I thought so, 

And I played him pretty fair; 
Hundred-dollar bill I gave him — 

Counterfeit — and got this ten! 
Ten ahead. No! you don't tell me! 

This bad, too? Sho! Sold again! 



SAM'S LETTER 

I wonder who w-wote me this letter. I thuppose 
the b-best way to f-find out ith to open it and thee. 
(Opens letter.) Thome lun-lunatic hath w-witten me 
this letter. He hath w-witten it upthide down. I 
wonder if he th-thought I wath going to w-wead it 
thanding on my head. Oh, yeth, I thee; I had it 
t-t-turned upthide down. "Amewica." Who do I 
know in Amewica? I am glad he hath g-given me 
hith addwess anyhow. Oh, yeth, I thee, it ith from 
Tham. I alwaths know Tham's handwiting when I 



114 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

thee hith name at the b-bottom of it. "My dear 
bwother — " Tham alwayths called me bwother. I-I 
thuppose iths because hith m-mother and my mother 
wath the thame woman, and we never had any thisters. 
When we were boyths we were ladths together. They 
used to ge-get off a pwoverb when they thaw uth corn- 
coming down the stweet. It ith vewy good, if I could 
only think of it. I can never wecollect anything that 
I can't we-wemember. Iths — it iths the early bir-bird 
— iths the early bir-bird that knowths iths own father. 
What non-nonthense that iths ! How co-could a bir- 
bird know iths own father? Iths a withe — iths a 
withe child- — iths a withe child that geths the worn. 
T-that's not wite. What non-nonthense that iths! 
No pa-pawent would allow hiths child to ga-gather 
woms. Iths a wyme. Iths fish of-of a feather. Fish 
of a fea — What non-nonthense! for fish don't have 
feathers. Iths a bir-bird — iths b-birds of a feather — 
b-birds of a feather flock together. B-birds of a 
feather! Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-birds 
had only one f-feather. They'd all catch cold, and 
only one b-bird c-could have that f-feather, and he'd 
fly sidewithse. What con-confounded nonthense that 
iths ! Flock to-together ! Of courthse th-they'd flock 
together. Wno ever her-vheard of a bird being such a 
f-fool as to g-go into a c-corner and flo-flock by him- 
self? "I wo-wote you a letter thome time ago — " 
Thath's a lie; he d-didn't wi-wite me a letter. If he 
had witten me a letter he would have posted it, and I 
would have g-got it; so, of courthse, he didn't post it, 
and then he didn't wite it. Thath's easy. Oh, yeths, 
I thee: "but I dwopped it into the potht-potht-oflice 
forgetting to diwect it." I wonder who the d-dic- 
dickens got that letter. I wonder if the poth-pothman 
iths gwoin' awound inquiring for a f-fellow without a 
name. I wonder if there iths any fel-fellow without 
any name. If there iths any fel-fellow without any 
name, how doeths he know who he iths himthelf ? I-I 
wonder if thuch a fellow could get mawaid. How 



SELECTED READINGS 115 

could he ask hiths wife to take hiths name if he h-had 
no name? Thath's one of thothse things no fellow 
can f-find out. "I have just made a startling dith- 
covery." Tham's alwayths d-doing thomthing. "I 
have dithcovered that my mother iths — that m-my 
mother iths not my m-mother; that a — the old nurse 
iths my m-mother, and that you are not my b-bwother, 
and a — tha-that I was changed at my birth." How 
c-can a fellow be changed at hith b-birth? If he iths 
not himthelf, who iths he? If Tham's m-mother iths 
not hith m-mother, and the nurthse iths hith mother, 
and Tham ithn't my bwother, who am I ? That's one 
of thothse things that no fel-fellow can find out. "I 
have p-purchased , an ethstate som-somwhere — " 
Dothn't the id-idiot know wh- where h-he has bought 
it? Oh, yeths: "on the bankths of the M-M-Mith- 
ithippi." Wh-who iths M-Mithithippi ? I g-gueth 
ith's Tham's m-mother-in-1-law. Tham's got mawaid. 
He th-thayths he felt v-vewy ner-nervous. He al- 
wayths waths a lucky fellow getting th-things he 
didn't want, and hadn't any use for. Thpeaking of 
mother-in-lawths, I had a fwiend who had a mother- 
in-law, and he didn't like her pwetty well; and she 
f-felt the thame way towards him; and they went away 
on a st-steamer acwoths the ocean, and they got wecked, 
catht away on a waft, and they floated awound with 
their feet in the water and other amuthements, living 
on thuch things ath they could pick up — thardinths, 
ithcweam, owanges, and other c-canned goodths that 
were floating awound. When that waths all gone, 
everybody ate everybody else. F-finally only himthelf 
and hiths m-mother-in-law waths left, and they pl- 
played a game of c-cards to thee who thould be eaten 
up — himthelf or hith mother-in-law. A-a — the mother- 
in-law lotht. H-he treated her handthomely, only he 
strapped h-her flat on her back, and c-carved her 
gently. H-h-he thays that waths the f -first time that 
he ever weally enjoyed a m-mother-in-law. 



116 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 



YARN OF THE "NANCY BELL" 

'Twas on the shores that round the coast 

From Deal to Ramsgate span, 
That I found alone, on a piece of stone, 

An elderly naval man. 

His hair was weedy, his beard was long, 

And weedy and long was he, 
And I heard this wight on the shore recite 

In a singular minor key: 

"Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, 

And a mate of the Nancy brig, 
And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite, 

And the crew of the captain's gig." 

And he shook his fists and he tore his hair 

Till I really felt afraid, 
For I couldn't help thinking the man had been drink- 
m g, 

And so I simply said: 

'"Oh, elderly man, it's little I know 
Of the duties of men of the sea, 
And I'll eat my hand if I understand 
How you can possibly be 

"At once a cook and a captain bold, 

And the mate of the Nancy brig, 
And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite, 

And the crew of the captain's gig." 

Then he gave a hitch to his trowsers, which 

Is a trick all seamen larn, 
And having got rid of a thumping quid, 

He spun this painful yarn: 



SELECTED READINGS 417 

" 'Twas on the good ship Nancy Bell, 

That we sailed to the Indian sea, 
And there on a reef we came to grief, 

Which has often occurred to me. 

"And pretty nigh all of the crew was drowned, 

(There was seventy-seven o' soul,) 
And only ten of the Nancy's men 

Said 'Here!' to the muster roll. 

"There was me and the cook and the captain bold. 

And the mate of the Nancy brig, 
And the bo'sun tight and the midshipmite, 

And the crew of the captain's gig. 

"For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink, 

Till a hungry we did feel, 
So we drawed a lot, and accordin' shot 

The captain for our meal. 

"The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate, 

And a delicate dish he made; 
Then our appetite with the midshipmite 

We seven survivors stayed. 

"And then we murdered the bo'sun tight, 

And he much resembled pig; 
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me 

On the crew of the captain's gig. 

"Then only the cook and me was left, 

And the delicate question, 'Which 
Of us two goes to the kettle?' arose, 

And we argued it out as sich. 

"For I loved that cook as a brother, I did, 

And the cook he worshiped me; 
And we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed 

In the other chap's hold, you see. 



118 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

" 'I'll be eat if he dines off me/ says Tom; 

'Yes, that/ says I, 'you'll be/ 
'I'm boiled if I die, my friend/ quoth I, 

And 'Exactly so,' quoth he. 

"Says he, 'Dear James, to murder me 

Were a foolish thing to do, 
For don't you see that you can't cook me, 

While I can — and will — cook you!' 

"So he boils the water, and takes the salt 

And the pepper in portions true, 
(Which he ne'er forgot,) and some chopped shalot, 

And some sage and parsley too. 

" 'Come here/ says he, with a proper pride, 

Which his smiling features tell, 
' 'Twill soothing be if I let you see 

How extremely nice you'll smell.' 

"And he stirred it round and round and round, 

And he sniffed at the foaming froth; 
When I ups with his heels, and smothers his squeals 

In the scum of the boiling broth. 

"And I eat that cook in a week or less, 

And — as I eating be 
The last of his chops, why I almost drops, 

For a vessel in sight I see. 

# •* # •* * * * 

"And I never larf, and I never smile, 

And I never lark nor play; 
But I sit and croak, and a single joke 

I have, which is to say: 

" 'Oh, I am a cook and a captain bold, 

And the mate of the Nancy brig, 
And a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite, 

And the crew of the captain's gig !' ' 

W. S. Gilbert. 



SELECTED READINGS 119 



ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH 

The first thing that I remember was Carlo tugging 

away 
With the sleeve of my coat fast in his teeth, pulling as 

much as to say: 
"Come, master, awake, attend to the switch, lives now 

depend upon you, 
Think of the souls in the coming train, and the graves 

you are sending them to. 
Think of the mother and the babe at her breast, think 

of the father and son, 
Think of the lover and loved one too, think of them 

doomed every one 
To fall (as it were by your very hand) into yon 

fathomless ditch, 
Murdered by one who should guard them from harm, 

who now lies asleep at the switch." 

I sprang up amazed — scarce knew where I stood, sleep 

had o'er-mastered me so; 
I could hear the wind hollowly howling, and the deep 

river dashing below, 
I could hear the forest leaves rustling, as the trees by 

the tempest were fanned, 
But what was that noise in the distance ? That I could 

not understand. 
I heard it at first indistinctly, like the rolling of some 

muffled drum, 
Then nearer and nearer it came to me, till it made my 

very ears hum; 
Wliat is this light that surrounds me and' seems to set 

fire to my brain? 
What whistle's that, yelling so shrill? Ah! I know 

now; it's the train. 

We often stand facing some danger, and seem to take 
root to the place; 



120 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

So I stood — with this demon before me, its heated 

breath scorching my face; 
Its headlight made day of the darkness, and glared 

like the eyes of some witch — 
The train was almost upon me before I remembered 

the switch. 
I sprang to it, seizing it wildly, the train dashing fast 

down the track; 
The switch resisted my efforts, some devil seemed hold- 
ing it back; 
On, on came the fiery-eyed monster, and shot by my 

face like a flash; 
I swooned to the earth the next moment, and knew 

nothing after the crash. 

How long I lay there unconscious 'twas impossible for 

me to tell; 
My stupor was almost a heaven, my waking almost a 

hell— 
For I then heard the piteous moaning and shrieking of 

husbands and wives, 
And I thought of the day we all shrink from, when I 

must account for their lives; 
Mothers rushed by me like maniacs, their eyes glaring 

madly and wild. 
Fathers, losing their courage, gave way to their grief 

like a child; 
Children searching for parents, I noticed, as by me 

they sped, 
And lips that could form naught but "Mamma" were 

calling for one perhaps dead. 

My mind was made up in a moment, the river should 
hide me away, 

When, under the still burning rafters I suddenly no- 
ticed there lay 

A little white hand; she who owned it was doubtless an 
object of love 



SELECTED READINGS 121 

To one whom her loss would drive frantic, tho* she 

guarded him now from above; 
I tenderly lifted the rafters and quietly laid them one 

side; 
How little she thought of her journey when she left 

for this dark fatal ride! 
I lifted the last log from oiF her, and while searching 

for some spark of life, 
Turned her little face up in the starlight, and recog' 

nized — Maggie, my wife! 

Lord! thy scourge is a hard one, at a blow thou hast 

shattered my pride; 
My life will be one endless nightmare, with Maggie 

away from my side. 
How often I'd sat down and pictured the scenes in 

our long, happy life; 
How I'd strive through all my life-time to build up a 

home for my wife; 
How people would envy us always in our cozy and 

neat little nest; 
How I should do all of the labor, and Maggie should 

all the day rest; 
How one of God's blessings might cheer us, how some 

day I p'raps should be rich — 
But all of my dreams have been shattered, while I laid 

there asleep at the switch! 

1 fancied I stood on my trial, the jury and judge I 

could see, 
And every eye in the court-room was steadily fixed 

upon me; 
And fingers were pointed in scorn, till I felt my face 

blushing blood-red, 
And the next thing I heard were the words, "Hanged 

by the neck until dead." 
Then I felt myself pulled once again, and my hand 

caught tight hold of a dress, 



122 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

And I heard, "What's the matter, dear Jim? You've 

had a bad nightmare, I guess!" 
And there stood Maggie, my wife, with never a scar 

from the ditch. 
I'd been taking a nap in my bed and had not been 

"asleep at the switch.'' 

George Hoey. 



A QUESTION 

As Annie was carrying the baby one day, 

Tossing aloft the lump of inanity, — 
Dear to its father and mother no doubt, 

To the rest of the world a mere lump of humanity, — - 
Sam came along, and was thinking then, maybe, 
Full as much of Annie as she of the baby. 

"Just look at the baby!" cried Ann, in a flutter, 
Giving its locks round her fingers a twirl: 

"If I was a man I know that I couldn't 

Be keeping my hands off a dear little girl." 

And Sam gave a wink, as if to say "Maybe, 

Of the girls, I'd rather hug you than the baby!" 

"Now kiss it!" she cried, still hugging it closer, 
"Its mouth's like the roses the honey-bee sips!" 

Sam stooped to obey; and, as heads came together, 
There chanced to arise a confusion of lips ! 

And, as it occurred, it might have been, maybe, 

That each got a kiss, — Sam, Ann, and the baby! 

It's hard to tell what just then was the matter, 
For the baby was the only one innocent there: 

And Annie flushed up like a full-blown peony, 
And Samuel turned red to the roots of his hair. 

So the question is this, — you can answer it, maybe, — 

Did Annie kiss Sam, or did both kiss the baby? 



SELECTED READINGS 123 



PAT'S MISTAKE 

With an aching tooth, one morning bright, 

Pat Donnegan left his home; 
The "murtherin' blackguard/' all the night, 

Had made poor Donnegan moan. 

With sorrowful phiz and watery eye, 

Pat tracked along in the rain, 
When these words his optics chanced to spy, 

"Teeth pulled without any pain." 

Down went his shovel, and in went Pat, 
Like a "broth of a bye" as he was, 

And down in the dentist's chair he sat, 
With wide distended jaws. 

In went the nippers and out came the tooth — 

"Ye miserable snag," said Pat, 
"You'll trouble me now no more, forsooth," 

And he made for his old white hat. 

"My pay, if you please," said the dentist man. 

"Och, murther ! what's that yer sayin' ? 
Ye wretched old pirate, don't it say on yer sign. 

'Teeth pulled widout any pa'in?' " 



THE PARSON'S SOCIABLE 

They carried the pie to the parson's house 
And scattered the floor with crumbs, 

And marked the leaves of his choicest books 
With the prints of their greasy thumbs. 

They piled his dishes high and thick 

With a lot of unhealthful cake, 
While they gobbled the buttered toast and rolls 

Which the parson's wife did make. 



124 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

They hung around Clytie's classic neck 
Their apple-parings, for sport, 

And every one laughed when a clumsy lout 
Spilt his tea in the piano-forte. 

Next day the parson went down on his knees 
With his wife — but not to pray: 

Oh no; 'twas to scrape the grease and dirt 
From the carpet and stairs away! 



THE VILLAGE GOSSIP. 

Well, neighbor Smith, how do you do? 

And how are you, Mis' Strong? 
Won't I come in ? Well, I don't know — 

I can't stop very long. 
But I declare ! the news I've heard 

'Most takes my breath away! 
To think — you don't know what I mean? 

You hain't heard? You don't say! 

Perhaps I hadn't ought to tell, 

But, seem' that it's you, 
I guess it won't do any harm, 

And then, "it's really true. 
Well, now, you musn't ever tell 

You heard the news from me, 
But Deacon Jones's oldest boy 

Has run away to sea. 

They say that he and Maggie Lee 

Had had a dreadful fuss, 
But sakes alive ! Them two young folks 

Was always in a muss ! 
And I must say the way she'd flirt 

Was a redic'lous shame! 
The deacon's folks will think, of course, 

That Maggie's most to blame. 



SELECTED READINGS 125 

I guess, though, if the truth were told, 

Tom Jones ain't quite a saint; 
But if he has talked hard to me, 

I sha'n't make no complaint. 
He gets his temper from his pa, 

Who once got mad, they say, 
And almost killed his brother Jim, 

When they were boys at play. 

I s'pose Dick Brown is awful glad 

That Tom has gone away; 
But he won't marry Maggie Lee 

It's pretty safe to say. 
For all she holds her head so high, 

Mis' Brown (so I've been told) 
Came from a poor, low family, 

And married Brown for gold. 

That makes me think of what I heard 

About old Peter Small! 
They say he's married Widder Green, 

Whose husband died last fall. 
I guess she'll make his money fly, 

I hope she will, I'm sure; 
His first wife always scrimped and saved 

As if that he was poor! 

Them White girls have come home at last; 

They've been away to school 
For 'most two years. I do declare! 

I think Mis' White's a fool! 
She'd better kept 'em both at home, 

A-learnm* how to cook, 
Instead of wastin' all their time 

On some outlandish book! 

That Nettie Gay was ridin* out 

With Frank Hall yesterday: 
If John knew how she carried on, 

I wonder what he'd say. 



126 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

She says that they are only friends; 

(As if I couldn't see!) 
She may make other folks think so; 

I'm sure she can't make me. 

Good land ! if there ain't Susan Gray 

A-comin' up the walk! 
Of all the folks I ever saw 

She is the worst to talk! 
She can't let other folks alone — 

With her it's "talk or die." 
No, I can't stay to tea, Mis' Smith — 

I must go now. Good-by. 



DA STRIT PIANNA. 

It dis-a-way in dis-a worl', w'ere every at'ing don' 

fit, 
Some fellas mak-a da music, an' da oders pay for it, 
An' da's-a w'y me an' Bianca, evera place we go, 
We play-a tunes da pipple lak, from Harlem to Park 

Row; 
An' if our music somatime sad, an' somatime it gay — 
Well, da's de kin' o' music w'at da strit pianna play ! 

Ting-a-ting, ting! Hear *ow it sing — 

Come, drop-a some money in ! 
All-a right, Bianc', I turn-a da crank, 

You shak-a da tambourin' ! 

You t'ink because da strit pianna work by crank an* 

wheel 
It has-a not da 'eart an' soul, it don' know 'ow to 

feel? 
Den tell-a me w'y, w'en winter come, an' snow is in 

da sky 
It play-a "Good 01' Summa Time" an' mak' you 

want to cry? 






SELECTED READINGS 127 



An' w'en da spring-a-time 'as come an' everat'ing ees 

g a 7; 
You laugh-a ha-ha! — so 'appy — w'en da strit pianna 

play? 

Bang-a-bang, bing! Mos' anyt'ing — 

Drop-a yo' neekel in! 
All-a right, Bianc', I turn-a da crank, 

You whack-a da tambourin'. 

Las' weenter w'en da win' ees col' an' snow all over 

lie 
Our liT gal Maria she ees sick an' al-a-mos' die; 
Den poor Bianca stay at 'ome an' I go out alone, 
An' in-a evera tune I grind I 'ear my baby moan, 
Till "Fare-a-well, My Violet" grow loud an' float 

away — 
Virgin of Sorrow, You know w'at dat strit pianna 

play! 

Tum-a-tum, turn! de trouble he come, 

De sorrow he enter in — 
All-a right, Bianc', I turn-a da crank 

An' shak-a da tambourin'. 

But w'en da day ees nice-a warm, jus' lak-a da Italee 
An' chil'ren play-a 'roun' da Square, as 'appy as can 

be, 
Me an' Bianc' we work-a so 'ard to mak' dat strit 

pianna 
Play "I-a Got One Feel for You" and maybe "Rus- 

ticana" 
Da chil'ren dance, we mak-a da mon an' everat'ing 

ees gay; 
Da's w'en I vera glad to 'ear da strit pianna play ! 

Tum-a-to, to! bulla for you! 

Mak-a da plenty tin — 
All-a right, Bianc', I turn-a da crank, 

You shak-a da tambourin'. 



128 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

By gran* 'otel, by cheap-a saloon, all same, we do 

our part, 
An* w'en we do not mak-a da mon we live jus* for 

our Art; 
But w'en we catch-a plenty coin we verra glad, for 

we 
T'ink o' dat vineyard w'at we buy in sunny Lom- 

bardee, 
An* 'ow Bianc' and liT Maria goin' 'ome some day, 
Live 'appy from da music w'at dat strit pianna play! 

Tum-a-tum, turn! ever-r-r-a-one come 

DrOp-a da neekel in! 
All-a right, Bianc', I turn-a da crank, 

You pass-a da tambourin'. 

Wallace Irwin, 



ROMANCE OF A HAMMOCK. 

Shady tree — babbling brook, 
Girl in hammock — reading book. 
Golden curls — tiny feet, 
Girl in hammock looks so sweet. 

Man rides past — big mustache, 
Girl in hammock makes a "mash. ss 

"Mash" is mutual — day is set, 
Man and maiden — married get. 

Married now a year and a day, 
Keeping house in Avenue A. 
Red-hot stove — beefsteak frying, 
Girl got married, cooking trying. 

Cheeks all burning — eyes look red, 
Girl got married — almost dead. 
Biscuit burnt up — beefsteak charryc 
Girl got married — awful sorry. 



SELECTED READINGS 129 

Man comes home — tears mustache, 

Mad as blazes — got no cash. 

Thinks of hammock — in the lane; 

Wishes maiden — back again. 

Maiden also — thinks of swing, 

And wants to go back too, poor thing! 

Hour of midnight — baby squawking; 
Man in bare feet — bravely walking; 
The baby yells — now the other 
Twin, he strikes up — like his brother. 
Paregoric — by the bottle 
Poured into — the baby's throttle. 

Naughty tack — points in air, 
Waiting someone's — foot to tear. 

Man in bare feet — see him there! 
O my gracious! — hear him swear! 

Raving crazy — gets his gun 
And blows his head off; 
Dead and gone. 

Pretty widow — with a book 

In the hammock — by the brook. 

Man rides past — big mustache; 
Keeps on riding — nary "mash." 



SHACOB'S LAMENT. 

Oxcoose me if I shed some tears, 
Und wipe my nose avay ; 

Und if a lump vos in my troat, 
It comes up dere to shtay. 

My sadness I shall now unfoldt, 
Und if dot tale of woe 



130 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Don'd do some Dutchmans any good, 
Den I don't pelief I know. 

You see, I fall myself in love, 
Und effery night I goes 

Across to Brooklyn by dot pridge, 
All dressed in Sunday clothes. 

A vidder vomans vos der brize, 
Her husband he vos dead; 

Und all alone in this colt vorldt, 
Dot vidder vos, she said. 

Her heart for love vos on der pine, 

Und dot I like to see; 
Und all der time I hoped dot heart 

Vos on der pine for me. 

I keeps a butcher shop, you know, 
Und in a stocking stout, 

I put avay my gold and bills, 
Und no one gets him oudt. 

If in der night some bank cashier 
Goes skipping off mit cash, 

I shleep so sound as nefer vos, 
Vhile rich folks go to shmash. 

I court dot vidder sixteen months, 
Dot vidder she courts me, 

Und vhen I says: "Vill you be mine?' 9 
She says: "You bet 111 be!" 

Ve vos engaged — oh ! blessed fact ! 

I squeeze dot dimpled hand; 
Her head upon my shoulder lays, 

Shust like a bag of sand. 

"Before der vedding day vos set/' 
She vispers in mine ear, 



SELECTED READINGS 131 

"I like to say I haf to use 
Some cash, my Jacob, dear. 

"I owns dis house and two big farms, 

Und ponds und railroad shtock; 
Und up in Yonkers I bossess 

A grand big peesness block. 

"Der times vos dull, my butcher boy, 

Der market vos no good, 
Und if I sell" — I squeezed her handt 

To show I understood. 

Next day — oxcoose my briny tears — 

Dot shtocking took a shrink; 
I counted out twelf hundred in 

Der cleanest kind o' chink. 

Und later, by two days or more, 

Dot vidder shlopes avay; 
Und leaves a note behindt for me 

In vhich dot vidder say: 

"Dear Shake: 

Der rose vos redt, 

Der violet blue — 
You see I've left, 

Und you're left, too!" 



DIFFIDENCE. 

"I'm after axin', Biddy dear — " 

And here he paused awhile 
To fringe his words the merest mite 

With something of a smile — 
A smile that found its image 

In a face of beauteous mold, 
Whose liquid eyes were peeping 

From a broidery of gold. 



132 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

"I've come to ax ye, Biddy dear, 

If — " then he stopped again, 
As if his heart had bubbled o'er 

And overflowed his brain. 
His lips were twitching nervously 

O'er what they had to tell, 
And timed the quavers with the eyes 

That gently rose and fell. 

"I've come — " and then he took her hands 

And held them in his own, 
"To ax" — and then he watched the buds 

That on her cheeks had blown, — 
"Me purty dear — " and then he heard 

The throbbing of her heart, 
That told how love had entered in 

And claimed its every part. 

"Och ! don't be tazin' me," said she, 

With just the faintest sigh, 
"I've sinse enough to see you've come, 

But what's the reason why?" 
"To ax — " and once again the tongue 

Forbore its sweets to tell, 
"To ax — if Mrs. Mulligan 

Has any pigs to sell." 



AUNT JEMIMA'S COURTSHIP. 

Waal, girls — if you must know — reckon I must tell 
ye. Waal, 'twas in the winter time, and father and I> 
were sitting alone in the kitchen. We wur sitting 
thar sort o' quiet like, when father sez, sez he to me, 
"Jemima!" And I sez, sez I, "What, sir?" And he 
sez, sez he, "Wa'n't that a rap at the door?" and I 
sez, sez I, "No, sir." Bimeby, father sez to me again, 
sez he, "Are you sure?" and I sez, sez I, "No, sir." 
So I went to the door, and opened it, and sure enough 



SELECTED READINGS 133 

there stood — a man. Waal, he came in and sat down 
by father, and father and he talked about almost 
everything you could think of; they talked about the 
farm, they talked about the crops, and they talked 
about polices, and they talked about all other ticks. 

Bimeby father sez to me, sez he, "Jemima!" And 
I sez, sez I, "What, sir?" And he sez, "Can't we 
have some cider?" And I sez, sez I, "I suppose so." 
So I went down in the cellar and brought up a pitcher 
of cider, and I handed some cider to father, and then 
I handed some to the man; and father he drinks and 
the man he drinks, and father he drinks, and the 
man he drinks till they drink it all up. After awhile 
father sez to me, sez he, "Jemima?" And I sez, sez 
I, "What, sir?" And he sez, sez he, "Ain't it most 
time for me to be thinking about going to bed?" And 
I sez., sez I, "Indeed, you are the best judge of that 
yourself, sir." "Waal," he sez, sez he, "Jemima, 
bring me my dressing-gown and slippers." And he 
put them on and arter awhile he went to bed. 

And there sat that man ; and bimeby he began a-hitch- 
ing his chair up toward mine — oh, my! I was all in 
a flutter. And then he sez, sez he, "Jemima?" And 
I sez, sez I, "What, sir?" And he sez, sez he, "Will 
you have me?" And I sez, sez I, "No, sir!" for I 
was most scared to death. Waal, there we sat, and 
arter awhile, will you believe me, he began back- 
ing his chair closer and closer to mine, and sez he, 
"Jemima?" And I sez, sez I, "What, sir?" And he 
sez, sez he, "Will you have me?" And I sez, sez I, 
"No, sir!" Waal, by this time he had his arm around 
my waist, and I hadn't the heart to take it away 
'cause the tears was a-rollin' down his cheeks, and 
he sez, sez he, "Jemima?" And I sez, sez I, "What, 
sir?" And he sez, sez he, "For the third and last 
time, I sha'n't ask ye agin, will ye have me?" And 
I sez, sez I, "Yes sir," — fur I didn't know what else 
to say. 



134 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 



THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT 

It was six men of Indostan 

To learning much inclined, 
Who went to see the elephant 

(Though all of them were blind), 
That each by observation 

Might satisfy his mind. 

The First approached the elephant, 

And happening to fall 
Against his broad and sturdy side, 

At once began to bawl: 
"God bless me! but the elephant 

Is very like a wall!" 

The Second, feeling of the tusk, 
Cried: "Ho! what have we here 

So very round and smooth and sharp? 
To me 'tis mighty clear 

This wonder of an elephant 
Is very like a spear!" 

The Third approached the animal, 

And, happening to take 
The squirming trunk within his hands, 

Thus boldly up and spake: 
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant 

Is very like a snake!" 

The Fourth reached out his eager hand, 

And felt about the knee: 
"What most this wondrous beast is like 

Is mighty plain," quoth he; 
" 'Tis clear enough the elephant 

Is very like a tree." 

The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, 
Said: "E'en the blindest man 



SELECTED READINGS 135 

Can tell what this resembles most; 

Deny the fact who can, 
This marvel of an elephant 

Is very like a fan!" 

The Sixth no sooner had begun 

About the beast to grope, 
Than, seizing on the swinging tail 

That fell within his scope, 
"I see," quoth he, "the elephant 

Is very like a rope!" 

And so these men of Indostan 

Disputed loud and long, 
Each in his own opinion 

Exceeding stiff and strong, 
Though each was partly in the right, 

And all were in the wrong! 



So, oft in theologic wars 
The disputants, I ween, 

Rail on in utter ignorance 
Of what each other mean, 

And prate about an elephant 
Not one of them has seen! 



J. G. Saxe. 



BILL MASON'S BRIDE. 

Half an hour till train time, sir, 

An* a fearful dark time, too; 
Take a look at the switch lights, Tom, 

Fetch in a stick when you're through. 
On time? well, yes, I guess so — 

Left the last station all right; 
She'll come round the curve a flyin'; 

Bill Mason comes up to-night. 



136 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

You know Bill? No? He's engineer, 

Been on the road all his life — 
I'll never forget the mornin' 

He married his chuck of a wife. 
*Twas the summer the mill hands struck, 

Just off work, every one; 
They kicked up a row in the village 

And killed old Donevan's son. 

Bill hadn't been married mor'n an hour, 

Up comes a message from Kress, 
Orderin' Bill to go up there, 

And bring down the night express. 
He left his gal in a hurry, 

And went up on Number One, 
Thinking , of nothing but Mary, 

And the train he had to run. 

And Mary sat down by the window 

To wait for the night express; 
And, sir, if she hadn't a' done so, 

She'd been a widow, I guess. 
For it must a' been nigh midnight 

When the mill hands left the Ridge; 
They come down — the drunken devils, 

Tore up a rail from the bridge. 
But Mary heard 'em a-workin' 

And guessed there was somethin' wrong- 
And in less than fifteen minutes, 

Bill's train it would be along! 

She couldn't come here to tell us, 

A mile — it wouldn't a' done; 
So she jest grabbed up a lantern, 

And made for the bridge alone. 
Then down came the night express, sir, 

And Bill was makin' her climb! 
But Mary held the lantern, 

A-swingin' it all the time. 



SELECTED READINGS 137 

Well, by Jove! Bill saw the signal, 

And he stopped the night express, 
And he found his Mary cryin', 

On the track, in her weddin' dress; 
Cryin' an' laughin' for j oy, sir, 

An' holdin' on to the light — 
Hello! here's the train — good-bye, sir, 

Bill Mason's on time to-night. 

Bret Harte. 



IS IT ANYBODY'S BUSINESS? 

Is it anybody's business 

If a gentleman should choose 
To wait upon a lady, 

If the lady don't refuse? 
Or, to speak a little plainer, 

That the meaning all may know, 
Is it anybody's business 

If a lady has a beau? 

Is it anybody's business 

When that gentleman doth call, 
Or when he leaves the lady, 

Or if he leaves at all? 
Or is it necessary 

That the curtains should be drawn 
To save from further trouble 

The outside lookers-on? 

Is it anybody's business 

But the lady's, if her beau 
Rideth out with other ladies, 

And doesn't let her know? 
Is it anybody's business, 

But the gentleman's, if she 
Should accept another escort, 

Where he doesn't chance to be? 



138 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

If a person's on the side-walk, 

Whether great or whether small, 
Is it anybody's business 

Where that person means to call? 
Or if you see a person 

While he's calling anywhere, 
Is it any of your business 

What his business may be there? 

The substance of our query, 

Simply stated, would be this. 
Is it anybody's business 

What another's business is? 
Whether 'tis or whether 'tisn't 

We should really like to know, 
For we are certain, if it isn't, 

There are some who make it so. 



THE BOOK CANVASSER 

He came into my office with a portfolio under his 
arm. Placing it upon the table, removing a ruined 
hat, and wiping his nose upon a ragged handkerchief 
that . had been so long out of the wash that it was 
positively gloomy, he said: 

"Mr. , I'm canvassing for the National Por- 
trait Gallery; very valuable work; comes in numbers, 
fifty cents apiece; contains pictures of all the great 
American heroes from the earliest times down to the 
present day. Everybody subscribing for it, and I 
want to see if I can't take your name. 

"Now, just cast your eyes over that," he said, 
opening his book and pointing to an engraving, 
"that's — lemme see — yes, that's Columbus, perhaps 
you've heard sumfin' about him? The publisher was 
telling me to-day before I started out that he dis- 
covered — no ; was it Columbus that dis — oh ! yes, Col- 



SELECTED READINGS 139 

umbus, he discovered America — was the first man 
here. He came over in a ship the publisher said, and 
it took fire, and he stayed on deck because his father 
told him to, if I remember right, and when the old 
thing busted to pieces he was killed. Handsome 
picture, ain't it? Taken from a photograph, all of 
'em are; done especially for this work. His clothes 
are kinder odd, but they say that's the way they 
dressed in them days. 

"Look at this one. Now isn't that splendid? 
That's William Penn, one of the early settlers. I was 
reading t'other day about him. When he first arrived 
he got a lot of Indians up a tree, and when they shook 
some apples down, he set one on top of his son's 
head, and shot an arrow plump through it and never 
fazed him. They say it struck them Indians cold; he 
was such a terrific shooter. Fine countenance, hasn't 
he? Face shaved clean; he didn't wear a mustache, 
I believe, but he seems to have let himself out on 
hair. Now, my view is, that every man ought to 
have a picture of that patriarch so's to see how the 
fust settlers looked and what kind of weskets they 
used to wear. See his legs, too! Trousers a little 
short maybe, as if he was going to wade in a creek; 
but he's all there. Got some kind of a paper in his 
hand, I see. Subscription list, I reckon. Now, how 
does that strike you? 

"There's something nice. That, I think, is — is — 
that — a — a — yes, to be sure, Washington — you recol- 
lect him, of course? Some people call him Father 
of his Country, George — Washington. Had no mid- 
dle name, I believe. He lived about two hundred 
years ago and he was a fighter. I heard the pub- 
lisher telling a man about him crossing the Delaware 
River up yer at Trenton, and seems to me, if I recol- 
lect right, I've read about it myself. He was court- 
ing some girl on the Jersey side, and he used to swim 
over at nights to see her when the old man was asleep. 
The girl's family were down on him, I reckon. He 



140 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

looks like a man to do that, don't he? He's got it 
in his eye. If it'd been me I'd gone over on a bridge, 
but he probably wanted to show off afore her; some 
men are so reckless, you know. Now if you'll con- 
clude to take this I'll get the publisher to write out 
some more stories, and bring 'em round to you, so's 
you can study up on him. I know he did ever 
so many other things, but I've forgot 'em; my 
memory's so awful poor. 

"Less see! Who have we next? Ah, Franklin! 
Benjamin Franklin! He was one of the old original 
pioneers, I think. I disremember exactly what he is 
celebrated for, but I think it was a flying a — oh! yes, 
flying a kite, that's it. The publisher mentioned it. 
He was out one day flying a kite, you know, like boys 
do now-a-days, and while she was a flickering up in the 
sky, and he was giving her more string, an apple fell 
off a tree, and hit him on the head; — then he discovered 
the attraction of gravitation, I think they call it. 
Smart, wasn't it? Now, if you or me'd a been hit, 
it'd just a made us mad like as not and set us a ravin'. 
But men are so different. One man's meat's another 
man's pison. See what a double chin he's got. No 
beard on him, either, though a goatee would have been 
becoming to such a round face. He hasn't got on a 
sword and I reckon he was no soldier; — fit some when 
he was a boy, maybe, or went out with the home-guard, 
but not a regular warrior. I ain't one, myself, and I 
think all the better of him for it. 

"Ah, here we are ! Look at that ! Smith and Poca- 
hontas ! John Smith ! Isn't that gorgeous ? See, 
how she kneels over him, and sticks out her hands 
while he lays on the ground, and that big fellow with a 
club tries to hammer him up. Talk about woman's 
love! There it is for you. Modocs, I believe. Any- 
way some Indians out West there, somewheres; and 
the publisher tells me that Captain Shackanasty, or 
whatever his name is there, was going to bang old 
Smith over the head with a log of wood, and this here 



SELECTED READINGS 141 

girl she was sweet on Smith/it appears, and she broke 
loose, and jumped forward and says to the man with a 
stick, 'Why don't you let John alone? Me and him 
are going to marry, and if you kill him, I'll never 
speak to you as long as I live/ or words like them, 
and so the man he give it up, and both of them hunted 
up a preacher and were married and lived happy ever 
afterward. Beautiful story, isn't it? A good wife 
she made him, too, I'll bet, if she was a little copper- 
colored. And don't she look just lovely in that pic- 
ture? But Smith appears kinder sick, evidently thinks 
his goose is cooked, and I don't wonder, with that 
Modoc swooping down on him with such a discourag- 
ing club. 

"And now we come to — to — ah — to — Putnam — Gen- 
eral Putnam: — he fought in the war, too; and one day 
a lot of 'em caught him when he was off his guard, and 
they tied him flat on his back on a horse and then 
licked the horse like the very mischief. And what 
does that horse do but go pitching down about four 
hundred stone steps in front of the house, with General 
Putnam lying there nearly skeered to death. Least- 
ways the publisher said somehow that way, and I once 
read about it myself. But he came out safe, and I 
reckon sold the horse and made a pretty good thing 
of it. What surprises me is he didn't break his neck, 
but maybe it was a mule, for they're pretty sure footed, 
you know. Surprising what some of these men have 
gone through, ain't it? 

"Turn over a couple of leaves. That's General 
Jackson. My father shook hands with him once. He 
was a fighter, I know. He fit down in New Orleans. 
Broke up the rebel Legislature, and then when the Ku 
Kluxes got after him he fought 'em behind cotton 
breastworks and licked 'em till they couldn't stand. 
They say he was terrific when he got real mad, — hit 
straight from the shoulder and fetched his man every 
time. Andrew, his fust name was; and look how his 
hair stands up. 



142 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

"And then, here's John Adams and Daniel Boone 
and two or three pirates, and a whole lot more pictures, 
so you see, it's cheap as dirt. Lemme have your name, 
won't you?" 



OUR MINISTER'S SERMON 

The minister said last night, said he, 

"Don't be afraid of givin'; 
If your life ain't worth nothin' to other folks, 

Why, what's the use of livin'?" 
And that's what I say to my wife, says I, 

There's Brown, the mis'rable sinner, 
He'd sooner a beggar would starve than give 

A cent toward buyin' a dinner. 

I tell you our minister is prime, he is, 

But I couldn't quite determine, 
When I heard him a-givin' it right and left, 

Just who was hit by his sermon. 
Of course there couldn't be no mistake 

When he talked of long-winded prayin', 
For Peters and Johnson they sot and scowled 

At every word he was sayin'. 

And the minister he went on to say, 

"There's various kinds of cheatin', 
And religion's as good for every day 

As it is to bring to meetin'. 
I don't think much of the man that gives 

The loud amens at the preachin', 
And spends his time the folloWin' week 

In cheatin' and overreachin'." 

I guess that dose was bitter enough 
For a man like Jones to swallow, 

But I noticed he didn't open his mouth 
But once, after that, to holler. 



SELECTED READINGS 14S 

Hurrah, says I, for the minister — 

Of course I said it quiet — 
Give us some more of this open talk, 

It's very refreshin' diet. 

The minister hit 'em every time, 

And when he spoke of fashion, 
And riggin's out in bows and things, 

As woman's rulin' passion, 
And coming to church to see the styles, 

I couldn't help a-winkin' 
And a-nudgin' my wife, and says I, "That's you," 

And I guess it sot her thinkin'. 

Says I to myself, that sermon's pat, 

But man is a queer creation, 
And I'm much afraid that most of the folks 

Won't take the application. 
Now, if he had said a word about 

My personal mode of sinnin', 
I'd have gone to work to right myself, 

And not set there a-grinnin'. 

Just then the minister says, says he, 

"And now I've come to the fellers 
Who've lost this shower by usin' their friends 

As a sort o' moral umbrellas, 
Go home," says he, "and find your faults, 

Instead of huntin' your brother's. 
Go home," says he, "and wear the coats 

You tried to fit for others." 

My wife she nudged, and Brown he winked 

And there was lots o' smilin', 
And lots o' lookin' at our pew; 

It sot my blood a-bilin'. 
Says I to myself, our minister 

Is gettin' a little bitter, 
I'll tell him, when the meetin's out, that I 

Ain't at all that kind of a critter. 



144 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 



SAVING MOTHER 

The farmer sat in his easy chair, 

Between the fire and the lamp-light's glare; 

His face was ruddy and full* and fair; 

His three small boys in the chimney nook 

Conned the lines of a picture book; 

His wife, the pride of his home and heart, 

Baked the biscuit and made the tart, 

Laid the table and steeped the tea, 

Deftly, swiftly, silently; 

Tired and weary, weak and faint, 

She bore her trials without complaint, 

Like many another household saint — 

Content, all selfish bliss above 

In the patient ministry of love. 

At last between the clouds of smoke 
That wreathed his lips the husband spoke: 

"There's taxes to raise, an' int'rest to pay — 
And ef there should come a rainy day, 
'T would be mighty handy, I'm bound to say, 
T' have somethin' put by; for folks must die, 
And there's funeral bills, and gravestones to buy- 
Enough to swamp a man, purty nigh. 
Besides, there's Edward and Dick and Joe 
To be provided for when we go. 
So 'f I was you, I'll tell you what I'd do: 
I'd be savin of wood as ever I could — 
Extra fires don't du any good — 
I'd be savin' of soap, and savin' of ile, 
And run up some candles once in a while; 
I'd be rather savin' of coffee an' tea, 

For sugar is high, 

And all to buy. 

"And cider is good enough drink for me; 
I'd be kinder careful of my cloe's 



SELECTED READINGS 145 

And look out sharp how the money goes — 
Gewgaws is useless, nature knows; 

Extra trimmin' 

'S the bane of women. 

"I'd sell off the best of the cheese and honey, 
And eggs is as good, nigh about, as money; 
And as to the carpet you wanted new — 
I guess we can make the old one du. 
And as for the washer, and sewin' machine, 
Them smooth-tongued agents so pesky mean, 
You'd better get rid of 'em slick and clean. 
What do they know about women's work? 
Do they kalkilate women was born to shirk?" 

Dick and Edward and Little Joe 

Sat in the corner in a row. 

They saw their patient mother go 

On ceaseless errands to and fro; 

They saw that her form was bent and thin, 

Her temples gray, her cheeks sunk in, 

They saw the quiver of lip and chin — 

And then, with a wrath he could not smother. 

Outspoke the youngest, frailest brother — 

"You talk of savin' wood and ile, 

An' tea an' sugar all the while, 

But you never talk of savin' mother!" 



AUNTY DOLEFUL'S VISIT 

How do you do, Cornelia? I heard you were sick, 
and I stepped in to cheer you up a little. My friends 
often say, "It's such a comfort to see you, Aunty Dole- 
ful. You have such a flow of conversation, and are so 
lively." Besides, I said to myself, as I came up the 
stairs, "Perhaps it's the last time I'll ever see Cornelia 
Jane alive." 



146 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

You don't mean to die yet, eh? Well, now, how do 
you know? You can't tell. You think you are get- 
ting better; but there was poor Mrs. Jones sitting up, 
and every one saying how smart she was, and all of a 
sudden she was taken with spasms in the heart, and 
went off like a flash. But you must be careful, and 
not get anxious or excited. Keep quite calm, and 
don't fret about anything. Of course, things can't go 
on jest as if you were down-stairs; and I wondered 
whether you knew your little Billy was sailing about 
in a tub on the mill-pond, and that your little Sammy 
was letting your little Jimmy down from the veranda 
roof in a clothes-basket. 

Gracious goodness ! what's the matter ? I guess 
Providence'll take care of 'em. Don't look so. You 
thought Bridget was watching them? Well, no, she 
isn't. I saw her talking to a man at the gate. He 
looked to me like a burglar. No doubt she let him take 
the impression of the door-key in wax, and then he'll 
get in and murder you all. There was a family at 
Kobble Hill all killed last week for fifty dollars. 
Now, don't fidget so; it will be bad for the baby. 

Poor little dear! How singular it is, to be sure, 
that you can't tell whether a child is blind, or deaf and 
dumb, or a cripple at that age. It might be all and 
you'd never know it. 

Most of them that have their senses make bad use of 
them, though; that ought to be your comfort, if it does 
turn out to have anything dreadful the matter with it. 
And more don't live a year. I saw a baby's funeral 
down the street as I came along. 

How is Mr. Kobble? Well, but finds it warm in 
town, eh? Well, I should think he would. They are 
dropping down by hundreds there with sun-stroke. 
You must prepare your mind to have him brought home 
any day. Anyhow, a trip on these railroad trains is 
just risking your life every time you take one. Back 
and forth every day as he is, it's just trifling with 
danger. 



SELECTED READINGS 147. 

Dear ! dear ! now to think what dreadful things hang 
over us all the time! Dear! dear! 

Scarlet fever has broken out in the village, Cornelia. 
Little Isaac Potter has it, and I saw your Jimmy play- 
ing with him last Saturday. 

Well, I must be going now. I've got another sick 
friend, and I shan't think my duty done unless I cheer 
her up a little before I sleep. Good-by. How pale 
you look, Cornelia. I don't believe you have a good 
doctor. Do send him away and try some one else. 
You don't look so well as you did when I came in. 
But if anything happens, send for me at once. If I 
can't do anything else, I can cheer you up a little. 

Mary Kyle Dallas. 



WIDDER SPRIGGINS' DAUGHTER 

'Twas on a beauteous summer morn, 

When things were up and comin', 
And all among the pumpkin-vines, 

The bumble-bees were hummin'; 
I took an early half-mile walk, 

As everybody'd orter, 
When in the cowpath I was met 

By Widder Spriggins' Daughter. 

Her eyes were black as David's ink, 

Her cheeks were red as fury, 
And one smack of her luscious lips 

Would bribe a judge or jury. 
I bow'd — she curcheyed just the way 

Her nice old mar had taught her; 
She smiled — and oh ! my heart was gone 

To Widder Spriggins' Daughter. 

Says I, "My dear, how do ye do?" 
Says she, "I reckon finely;" 



148 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

Says I, "Of all the gals I know, 
You look the most divinely." 

I snatched a kiss — she slapped my face, 
In fact, just as she'd orter; 

"Behave yourself, how dare you, sir!" 
Cried Widder Spriggins' Daughter. 

Just then an old rampageous sheep, 

Who had been feeding near, sir, 
Squared off, and like a ton of bricks^ 

He took me with his head, sir; 
I landed in a pond, chuck full 

Of frogs and filthy water, 
And then she stood and larfed and larfed. 

That Widder Spriggins' Daughter. 

I rather guess I crawled out quick, 

Picked up my hat and mizzled, 
While love's bright torch so lately lit, 

Out in that frog-pond fizzled. 
Well, she was married yesterday, 

A lawyer chap has got her; 
So, I'll forget, if not forgive, 

The Widder Spriggins' Daughter. 



THE OLD MAN IN THE MODEL CHURCH 

Well, wife, I've found the model church ! I wor- 
shiped there to-day! 

It made me think of good old times before my hairs 
were gray; 

The meetin'-house was fixed up more than they were 
years ago, 

But then I felt, when I went in, it wasn't built for 
show. 

The sexton didn't seat me away back by the door; 

He knew that I was old and deaf, as well as old and 
poor; 



SELECTED READINGS 149 

He must have been a Christian, for he led me bodily 

through 
The long aisle of that crowded church to find a pleasant 

pew. 
I wish you'd heard the singin' ; it had the old-time ring ; 
The preacher said, with trumpet voice: "Let all the 

people sing!" 
The tune was "Coronation/' and the music upward 

rolled, 
Till I thought I heard the angels striking all their 

harps of gold. 
My deafness seemed to melt away; my spirit caught 

the fire; 
I joined my feeble, trembling voice with that melodious 

choir, 
And sang as in my youthful days: "Let angels pros- 
trate fall; 
Bring forth the royal diadem, and crown Him Lord of 

all." 
I tell you, wife, it did me good to sing that hymn once 

more; 
I felt like some wrecked mariner who gets a glimpse of 

shore ; 
I almost wanted to lay down this weather-beaten form, 
And anchor in that blessed port, forever from the 

storm. 
The preachin'? Well, I can't just tell all that the 

preacher said; 
I know it wasn't written; I know it wasn't read; 
He hadn't time to read it, for the lightnin' of his eye 
Went flashin' 'long from pew to pew, nor passed a sin- 
ner by. 
The sermon wasn't flowery; 'twas simple Gospel truth; 
It fitted poor old men like me; it fitted hopeful youth; 
'Twas full of consolation for weary hearts that bleed; 
'Twas full of invitations to Christ and not to creed. 
The preacher made sin hideous in Gentiles and in Jews. 
He shot the golden sentences down in the finest 

pews; 



150 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

And — though I can't see very well — I saw the falling 

tear 
That told me hell was some ways off, and heaven very 

near. 
How swift the golden moments fled within that holy 

place ! 
How brightly beamed the light of heaven from every 

happy face! 
Again I longed for that sweet time when friend shall 

meet with friend — 
"When congregations ne'er break up, and Sabbath has 

no end." 
I hope to meet that minister — that congregation, too — 
In that dear home beyond the stars that shine from 

heaven's blue; 
I doubt not I'll remember, beyond life's evenin' gray, 
The happy hour of worship in that model church to- 
day. 
Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought — the victory 

soon be won; 
The shinin' goal is just ahead; the race is nearly run; 
O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the 

shore, 
To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no 

more. 



MISS JONES AND THE BURGLAR 

Most women on earth have a natural dread 
That a bold, wicked burglar is under their bed; 
So the last thing they do, ere retiring at night, 
Is to take lamp or candle and see that all's right. 

'Tis strange, though, a man never bothers his head 
To look for a woman stowed under his bed; 
A woman's ne'er content to close eyes in sleep 
Until for a man she hath taken a peep. 



SELECTED READINGS 151 

Now Miss Jones was a spinster of forty or more, 
Who made bonnets, dresses, and kept a small store; 
She had goods for the ladies, and goods for the gents, 
And 'twas said had a fortune of dollars and cents. 

She lived all alone, and had often been told, 
That she'd surely be robbed of her silver and gold; 
So she'd glance 'neath the bed after closing each night, 
To feel safely secure, and know all was right. 

One dark, stormy night, she. closed up the store, 
And looked as she'd done "seven thousand times be- 
fore." 
She was rewarded at last, for there, with his head 
Turned toward her, lay a man stretched under her bed. 

She did not as some place herself in bad plight 
By calling for neighbors or screaming with fright, 
Or by taking the broom to punch at his head, 
But quietly undressed her, and got into bed. 

To take him at advantage was what she desired, 
So lay still as a cat, after she had retired; 
She heard a sly movement soon under the bed — 
On all fours he came crawling, she grabbed for his 
head. 

With a vise-grip she caught him, each ear she held fast, 
The burglar thought judgment was coming at last. 
Thump ! thump ! went his head down 'gainst the hard 

floor, 
He begged hard for mercy, as he ne'er begged before. 

"I mistook this for my own room," the wretch loudly 

cries, 
"And got 'neath the bed to get clear of the flies." 
"Flies, forsooth, indeed, at night!" Miss Jones meekly 

said, 
And each time that she spoke, bump, bump, went his 

head. 



152 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

A sleepy policeman, who was just coming past, 
Forced the door for the neighbors, who came rushing 

in fast; 
The burglar to the lock-up was escorted that night, 
His head, eyes, and ears a most pitiful sight. 

The judge in the morn on him six months bestowed, 
And applauded Miss Jones for the courage she 

showed ; 
And as she still looks 'neath her bed every night, 
Bad luck to the burglar caught in the same plight. 

S. S. Waggoner. 



TALE OF A STAMP 

I'm a stamp — 

A postage stamp — 

A two-center; 

Don't want to brag, 

But I was never 

Licked 

Except once; 

By a gentleman, too; 

He put me on 

To a good thing; 

It was an envelope — 

Perfumed, pink, square. 

I've been stuck on 

That envelope 

Ever since; 

He dropped us — 

The envelope and me — 

Through a slot in a dark box; 

But we were rescued 

By a mail clerk; 

More's the pity. 

He hit me an awful 

Smash with a hammer; 



SELECTED READINGS 153 

It left my face 

Black and blue; 

Then I went on a long 

Journey 

Of two days; 

And when we arrived — 

The pink envelope and me — 

We were presented 

To a perfect love 

Of a girl, 

With the stunningest pair 

Of blue eyes 

That ever blinked; 

Say, she's a dream! 

Well, she mutilated 

The pink envelope 

And tore one corner 

Of me off 

With a hairpin; 

Then she read what 

Was inside 

The pink envelope. 

I never saw a girl blush 

So beautifully! 

I would be stuck 

On her — if I could. 

Well, she placed 

The writing back 

In the pink envelope; 

Then she kissed me. 

Oh, you little godlets! 

Her lips were ripe 

As cherries. 

And warm 

As the summer sun. 

We— 

The pink envelope and me — - 

Are now 

Nestling snugly 



154 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

In her bosom; 

We can hear 

Her heart throb; 

When it goes fastest 

She takes us out 

And kisses me. 

Oh, say, 

This is great! N 

I'm glad 

I'm a stamp — 

A two-center. 

Ohio State Journal 



ALL ABOUT THE WEATHER 

"Pretty warm/' the man with the thin clothes said 
to the man in the corner seat as the car was coming 
down the street. 

"What's pretty warm?" growled the man in the cor- 
ner. 

"Why, the weather." 

"What weather?" more gruffly than ever. 

"Why," the man with thin clothes said, looking as 
though he wished he hadn't begun it, "this weather." 

"Well," said the man in the corner, "how's this 
weather different from any other?" 

The man with the thin clothes looked nervously at 
the dun mule and said, "It was warmer." 

"How do you know it is ?" asked the man in the cor- 
ner. 

The other man began to wish he was well out of it, 
and said he supposed it was; he hadn't heard how 
the— 

"Isn't the weather the same everywhere?" savagely 
demanded the man in the corner. 

"Why, no," the man with the thin clothes replied, 
wishing to goodness he had a newspaper to hide be- 



SELECTED READINGS 155 

hind, "no; it's warmer some places, and some places 
it's colder." 

"What makes it warmer in some places than it's 
colder in others?" remorselessly pursued the man in the 
corner. 

"Why," the man with thin clothes said piteously, 
"the sun; the effect of the sun's heat." 

"Makes it colder in some places than it's warmer in 
others?" roared the man in the corner indignantly. 
"Never heard of such a thing." 

"No," the man with thin clothes hastened to ex- 
plain; "I didn't mean that. The sun makes it 
warmer." 

"Then what makes it colder?" pursued the remorse- 
less man in the corner. 

The man in thin clothes wiped the beaded perspira- 
tion from his pallid brow, and said slowly, he guessed 
it was the ice. 

"What ice?" demanded the inquisitor. 

"Why," the victim said, with every symptom of ap- 
proaching dissolution apparent in his tremulous voice, 
"the ice that was — frozen — frozen — by the frost." 

"Did you ever see any ice that wasn't frozen?" 
howled the man in the corner, in a fine burst of 
derision. 

The man in thin clothes huskily whispered that he 
wished he was dead, and said, "No; that is, I believe I 
didn't." 

"Then," thundered the man in the corner, "what 
are you talking about?" 

The man in thin clothes made an effort to brace up, 
and spicily replied that he was trying to talk about the 
weather. 

"And what do you know about it?" triumphantly 
roared the man in the corner, "what do you know about 
the weather?" 

The man in thin clothes lost his grip again, and 
feebly said that he didn't know very much about it, 
that was a fact. And then he tried to be cheerful, 



156 COMIC DECLAMATIONS 

and work in a little joke about nobody being able to 
know much about this weather, but the man in the 
corner sat down on him with a tremendous outburst. 

"No, sir! I should say you didn't! You come into 
this car and force yourself on the attention of a 
stranger and begin to talk to me about the weather, 
just as though you owned it, and I find you don't 
know a solitary thing about the matter you yourself 
selected for a topic of conversation; you don't know 
one thing about meteorological conditions, principles, 
or phenomena; you can't tell me why it is warm in 
August and cold in December; you don't know why 
icicles form faster in the sunlight than they do in the 
shade; you don't know why the earth grows colder as 
it comes nearer the sun; you can't tell why a man can 
be sun-struck in the shade; you can't tell me how a 
cyclone is formed nor how the trade winds blow; you 
couldn't find the calm-center of a storm if your life 
depended on it; you don't know what a sirocco is nor 
where the southwest monsoon blows; you don't know 
the average rainfall in the United States for the past 
and current year; you don't understand the formation 
of fog, and you can't explain why the dew falls at 
night and dries up in the day; you don't know why a 
wind dries the ground more quickly than a hot sun; 
you don't know one solitary thing about the weather, 
and you are just like a thousand and one other people, 
who always begin talking about the weather because 
they don't know anything else, when by the caves of 
Boreas, sir, they know less about the weather than 
they do about anything else in the world!" 

And the man in the corner glared up and down at 
the timid passenger, but no man durst answer him. 
And as for the man with thin clothes, he didn't know 
for the life of him whether he had a sun-stroke or an 
ague chill. He only knew that it seemed about twenty- 
seven miles to the next street crossing. 



ENTERTAINMENT BOOKS 
FOR YOUNG FOLKS 

Compiled by 

CARLETON B. CASE 



JUNIOR DIALOGUES 

Paper Covers 160 Pages Price 30 cents. 

A collection of short, bright playlets, especially 
suited to the needs of the younger participants in 
school, Sunday School and home entertainments. 
No elaborate stage setting is required, nor proper- 
ties not readily obtainable anywhere, while the 
" lines" are such as the average boy and girl can 
readily master. The enjoyment afforded by these 
choice selections will be shared by both, the little 
players and their audience. Clean, wholesome 
wit abounds throughout, with no attempt at heavy 
work or complicated plots. An abundance of 
amusing action, laughable situations and good fun. 



FUN FOR FRIDAY AFTERNOONS 

Paper Covers 160 Pages Price 30 cents. 

Humorous dialogues and playlets for school usee 
Teachers will find their pupils taking to this class 
of work with a zest, and the attendant benefits in 
the lines of elocutionary drill and character inter- 
pretation very marked. The action in these little 
comedies is rapid, and the development proceeds to 
the climax without tedious halting. This collec- 
tion has been gathered with much care for its spe- 
cial purpose, and is confidently presented to the 
young people, and their teachers and parents, as 
one well adapted to their needs for genuine Fun 
on Friday Afternoons in the schoolroom. 

SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. 
CHICAGO 



ENTERTAINMENT BOOKS 
FOR YOUNG FOLKS 

Compiled by 

CARLETON B. CASE 
FRIDAY AFTERNOON DRAMAS 

Paper Covers 160 Pages Price 30 cents. 

Recognizing that variety is desirable in the Fri- 
day afternoon school entertainments, we have pre- 
pared a collection of pleasing little dramas for the 
especial use of scholars and teachers on such occa- 
sions, and recommend that the usual rhetorical 
exercises be enlivened and varied by their occa- 
sional use. At the same time, the appropriateness 
of these bright little dialogues is not limited solely 
to Friday afternoons at school. Any school enter- 
tainment, as well as the various Sabbath School and 
parlor affairs, will find these short dramas desir- 
able foi- satisfactory presentation. 



ENTERTAINING DIALOGUES 

Paper Covers 160 Pages Price 30 cents. 

A collection of lively dialogues that all will en- 
joy, both participants and auditors. Suitable for 
young folks and all who have young hearts; for 
presentation in schoolroom, church, Grange hall 
and the home parlor. In compiling this work care 
has been taken to offer the greatest amount of en- 
tertainment to lovers of cheerful little dramas, and 
assure the approval, laughter and applause of all 
who sit "in front." No difficulty will be experi- 
enced in supplying scenery, properties or costumes, 
careful consideration having been given to these 
matters in the selection of the dialogues. 

SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. 
CHICAGO 



ENTERTAINMENT BOOK3 
FOR YOUNG FOLKS 

Compiled by 

CARLETON B. CASE 
JUVENILE DIALOGUES 

Paper Covers 160 Pages Price dO cents. 

Easy dramatic dialogues, short and full of clean 
fun, especially adapted for performance by young 
people, and presenting the least possible difficulties 
in regard to scenery, properties and costumes. 
This collection affords boys and girls of school age 
abundant opportunity to distinguish themselves 
before an audience and obtain real pleasure them- 
selves in doing so. Not a "dry" piece in the lot, 
but plenty of amusement for all. Teachers and 
parents will find much to interest them, and the 
young folks under their care, in Juvenile Dia- 
logues. A new compilation, now first offered. 

HOLIDAY RECITATIONS 

Paper Covers 160 Pages Price 30 cents. 

All the holidays are fully covered. In this 
carefully chosen series of recitations for special 
days the older students and the little folks alike 
will find an abundance of fresh and pleasing 
material for their use at school, in the Sunday 
School and church, in the home parlor, and wher- 
ever else the celebrations of the several days may 
be held. There is humor in plenty, where humor 
is appropriate, and the pathetic, the serious and 
the classic hold their several places in due measure. 
Diversity, completeness and a high grade of excel- 
lence govern the selections as a whole. Just out. 

SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO 
CHICAGO 



ENTERTAINMENT BOOKS 
FOR YOUNG FOLKS 

Compiled by 
CARLETON B. CASE 

DISTRICT SCHOOL RECITATIONS 

Paper Covers 160 Pages Price 30 cents. 

This collection of attractive pieces to speak 
is full of clever things for scholars in all grades 
and all classes of schools, including Sabbath 
Schools, and for the older as well as the younger 
pupils. It is the "last word" in speakers, being 
just issued, and will fully meet the requirements 
of all who seek to please their audience, and them- 
selves. The teacher and the pupil alike will find 
this book to be just the one he has been looking for, 
supplying as it does a large measure of the chosen 
recitations that everyone applauds for their clever- 
ness and excellence. 



CHILDREN'S SELECT RECITATIONS AND 
DIALOGUES 

Paper Covers 160 Pages Price 30 cents. 

In this new and complete work there is presented 
both choice recitations for public declamation, and 
select dialogues for the school and home stage. 
It will be welcomed on its merits wherever good 
declamation, reading and dialogue are appropri- 
ate, be that in school, Sunday School, Grange hall 
or home parlor. The uniting, in one book, of se- 
lections for reciting and for dialogue work, should 
make a strong appeal to parents and teachers who 
seek the good things in both lines of endeavor, 
for their children and pupils. 



SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. 
CHICAGO 



ENTERTAINMENT BOOKS 
FOR YOUNG FOLKS 

Compiled by 

CARLETON B. CASK 



HIGH ICHOOL DIALOGUES 

This book of little comedies contains selections 
especially adapted to the needs of the High School 
scholar and more advanced members of the Grade 
schools. With this collection in hand teachers 
arrange many agreeable afternoon and eve 
entertainments to be participated in by thems< 
and their pupils and enjoyed by the entire 
munity. The" humorous is given the preference, 
yet the diversity of the characterizations aff« 
abundant opportunity for all to appear in the | 
roles to which they are best suited. An entii 
new compilation. 



JUNIOR RECITATIONS 

Paper Cover. 160 F»ges Price S* cent 

As the title indicates, this is a bookful <v 
tions and readings for the juvenile members of the 
family, the school and Sunday School. 
compiler says in his Preface: "The materi; 
suited to 'little bears and medium size bears, 
even to some ' great big bears ! ' ! It is a gron; 
together of the very Severest things for little folks 
to read and speak in r public, and as such is most' 
heartily welcomed by teachers and parents as well 
as by pupils. Furthermore, it is the very late' 
collection issued, being from the press this 
and thus has the merit of timeliness in its favor. 





SHREWESBURY PUBLISHING CO. 
CHICAGO 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



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